


Hersir, Bane of the Andals

by Captain_Hazard



Series: Hersir Verse [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Lots of Fuckery to be had, M/M, Northern Kingdom, Nothing triggering, Will tag if necessary, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:00:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 66,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Hazard/pseuds/Captain_Hazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the gods of the Sky, I charge you to weather any storm that comes your way, no matter the cost.</p><p>By the gods of the Sea, I charge you to defend the shores of your people from outside forces.</p><p>By the gods of the Earth, I charge you to defend the lands of your ancestors from the wicked, even if they are your brethren.</p><p>By the true gods of Westeros, I charge you to protect the North in its entirety, for this is the last realm of the First Men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. History and Lore

**History of the Hersir, as told by Maester Luwin of Winterfell**

 

When the Andals invaded, they were met with great resistance. Even when they married into the families of the First Men, there was still the looks of defiance that promised pain a thousand times over. Looks that promised that the injustice that was suffered would not be forgotten.

And would be paid for in full.

It was the Andals who introduced the idea of naming their bastards. All of Westeros took to this idea with different results. The North and Dorne were the most different really. Both gifted their bastard children with names that signaled pride. For while it was the strongest house that ruled those regions, their bastard names were that region.

Sand for the scorching desert that destroyed its enemies and made its people appreciate the cool water they drank. And Snow for the cold that froze its enemies to the bone and made its people appreciate the warmth of their fires. Even the Ironborn named their bastards in tribute of the ruling island in the hopes of their child being as strong as said island.

Of course, bastard names were not the only thing that they twisted for their own benefits, the concept of title warriors worked as well. Honorary names were given as well, but to gift a free means of legitimacy to anyone that proved their worth was something that they could and were willing to exploit.

So the Hersir had been born, and its vows spread to those who still remembered the old ways. Its name was derived from the hundred clans of First Men who inherited Westeros after they arrived on the Arm of Dorne. It may also be a reference to the hundreds of kingdoms that existed before any unification. I have my doubts of this but who can say what is true and what is not?

Every region had their own name for their collectives, gifted to them by the outsiders who knew very little about them. Steel Serpents for Dorne. Howling Wolves in the North. Sea Dragons in the Crownlands. Stone Falcons in the Eyrie, Drowned Squids in the Iron Islands. And Brackish Fish for the Riverlands.

Those with the most Andal influence, such as the Reach and the Westerlands, do not have any type of order and frown upon those that do. Of course, a lot of frowns bloom on many faces when they think of the Hersir.

You will find no warrior more loyal to any cause or lord or king, than a Knight or Den of the Hersir. They will fight to the death for what they believe in and will punish those who would seek to destroy their way of life with either their weapon of choice, or with the powers granted to them by the Old Gods.

In all my years in the North, I have seen things that have both awed and frightened me. The Hersir are both beautiful and dangerous, and it would be wise to make a friend of them if you can. After all, their foes don't last for very long.

 


	2. The King who Bartered

Torrhen Stark knew that today would be the end of an independent Northern kingdom, but he would fight for everything he came to fight for regardless.

“King Torrhen,” The sister fucker said by way of greeting.

“Invader,” Torrhen said back. Both shared a slight smile, one filled with respect and disdain in equal measure. “Ladies,” He addressed Aegon's sisters with two small nods.

“King Torrhen,” Rhaenys said respectfully.

“Wolf fucker,” Visenya snapped at him. Both he and Brandon shared a laugh as she was scolded by her siblings.

“I understand that you wish to surrender,” Aegon prompted him to speak.

“Surrender is such a broad term,” Torrhen snorted. “I prefer the term alliance.”

“We have enough men and dragons to lay waste to your home, there is no need for anything but absolute surrender.”

“Aye, all the men from the fools you conquered and nine beasties to match. Quite the force you have. A force you could try and march up the Neck but we both know that you don't know how to navigate through it. Burning the North would see you finish what the Andals could never do: near complete destruction of the First Men and the native species of Westeros like the Children and the Giants.”

“And why should we care about a few measly creatures or you savages?” Visenya rolled her eyes. “The other lords would appreciate it if we did such a thing,” She said to her brother. “It would help further solidify our rule.”

“Your rule?” Brandon scoffed.

“Who asked you to speak bastard? Know your place in the presence of your betters.”

“His place is by my side as he is my brother, and he speaks true,” Torrhen remarked. “You think that we don't have ears? The Southerners don't refer to this campaign as your campaign but Aegon's. They don't see you as his equals -”

“They see you as lesser,” Brandon jumped in. “They all think that you don't belong on the battlefield but in the bed chamber, birthing heirs. We Northmen are hardly perfect but we recognize that women can be strong if not stronger in any situation. And is bastard supposed to be an insult? Is Lord Baratheon not your bastard brother? Or was that a lie?”

Visenya's face became pinched at having been reminded of her brother.

“You still haven't explained why we shouldn't just kill you all,” Rhaenys added quietly.

“Look to the Doom of your homeland,” Torrhen shrugged. “Your family survived that and there are very little Valyrian people left in the world. Could you live with yourselves if you destroyed an entire culture or at the very least, try to? There are still enough people with the Blood of the First Men in the south, but they have forsaken the True Gods of Westeros or they are very few in number to mount a sizable force.”

“Not to mention that the Southern lords despise incest as much as we do,” Brandon grinned when Visenya sneered at him. “Of course, we understand that it is a part of your culture even if we don't like it, but the Andals will never accept it and will hinder you any chance they get. You need only look to what a lot of them did when they invaded this continent.”

Aegon shared a thoughtful look with his sisters before he spoke.

“I cannot disagree with what you have stated but we cannot allow you to rule as King-”

“I won't be king in this alliance,” Torrhen said bluntly. “I will lay my sword at your feet and name you king, but with conditions that should be met if that is going to happen.”

“We cannot agree to anything without hearing them first.”

“Of course,” Torrhen nodded. “The first is this, we keep our customs and gods, meaning no law will be implemented to destroy our way of life. And should an attempt be made by those who follow the Faith of the Seven, you will deal with them permanently and swiftly.”

The siblings huddled together to speak quietly before nodding.

“Granted, but we must ask the the same of you.”

“Agreed. The next condition is that you do not take up the practice of slavery. Your ancestors did so and your brethren still practice this but it goes against common decency and the laws of my people. It would also endanger the alliance that the North has with Braavos. An alliance that has been in place for a long time and one that brings in a great amount of coin, some of which I would be willing to share.”

Braavos would rage at the idea of this but they needed the North just like the North needed them. They wouldn't throw away a friendship that had lasted for almost a thousand years.

“We have not and will never practice the act of slavery,” Rhaenys said as fiercely as a person her size could say without looking ridiculous. “You have our word.”

“Of course, we will need to discuss just how much of that coin you will give to the crown.” Visenya added with a smirk.

“Nothing extortionate,” Aegon gave his sister a warning look. “The North must have a lot of expense to go through I'm sure but we will not be cheated out of money.”

Torrhen nodded, that was fair.

“Should anyone feel that my decision was not within their best interest, you will permit them to leave and will not force them to stay in Westeros.”

“If they truly wish to leave then they may but should they return and wish to remain, it will be to swear fealty to our house. If any of them should return with the intent to cause trouble, they will be killed.”

“Agreed,” Torrhen inclined his head with a small amount of hesitation.

“You expect a lot of people to leave because of this,” Rhaenys looked at him with pity.

“A few of my sons will leave, of that I have no doubt,” Torrhen replied with a hint of sadness before he changed the subject. “There is still one more matter to deal with.”

“And that would be?”

“One of the greatest threats to humanity marches on the Wall. And we need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I should be finishing up any story I had before posting this but I've been wanting to post this for awhile. Its not my best work and I am definitely going to get a lot of shit for what I've done with canon but...I can't really bring myself to care. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy.
> 
> P.S. if any of you are wondering about the end of this chapter, yes the White Walkers march on the Wall and no, I will not write about them. I already did that in my other main story and frankly it was a pain to do so.


	3. In good conscience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We time jump to the End of the Rebellion.

**Lord Rickard Stark, the Red Keep**

“They were nothing but Dragon spawn!” Robert Baratheon bellowed at his son who flushed angrily. “Why do you care about them and their whore mother?! Their family were responsible for all the shit that has befallen us!”

Lord Rickard Stark gave a cold look to the man that would be king. The more indifferent side of him understood that for the Southerners plan to work, all the Targaryen's needed to die. The side of him that was a father and husband howled at him to take action. Ned opened his mouth, ready to argue some more.

“Leave it Ned,” He said harshly before his son could speak. Ned gave him a betrayed look. “These Southern cunts can have their games, we have more important things to do.”

Now it was Robert and Jon Arryn who stared at him with betrayal and anger. Those surrounding them began to murmur. Rickard paid them no mind.

“Of course father,” Ned replied dully and with a short bow of his head. Ricked gestured for him to leave the throne room first with their men.

“Ned,” Robert called. “I didn't tell you to leave.”

“He doesn't answer to you boy, he answers to me.” Rickard snapped back.

“This is the king you speak to, Lord Stark.” Lord Tywin said smoothly.

“He wasn't crowned by anyone and I sure as hell did not bend my knee to this shit head.”

“Rickard,” Jon pleaded.

“No, old friend, if Steffon could see the kind of monster his son has become, he would have killed him by now with his own two hands.” Kingslayer mark be damned, he thought. Steffon would not, in good conscience, allow his son to get away with this. And neither would Rickard, not without some repercussions at the very least.

“I slayed the monster on the Trident!” Robert bellowed again, taking a step forward. A hand from Jon Arryn stopped him from getting closer but his hands still gripped his war hammer.

“You slayed the man that knew where my daughter was you buffoon,” Rickard retorted angrily. “Then you rewarded this arsehole for hiding under a rock and killing innocents,” He flicked his wrist at Tywin Lannister, a man he had once been cordial to, one could even say that they had been friends at some point. “And what does that leave us with, hmm? My daughter is still missing and now you have dead kin at your feet.”

“They are not my kin!”

“Your ancestor was a bastard Targaryen who stole the titles and sigil of another house,” Ricked said calmly. “Your grandmother was a Targaryen as well. Your usurping the Throne from them could be considered poetic irony.” I consider it pathetic really, Rickard thought with a shake of his head. “As I told my son, there are more important things to do than stand here.” He began to leave but found his path blocked by Westerland knights, including Ser Gregor Clegane.

“If I am not outside of these walls soon, my son will lead our troops here and slaughter everyone in their path to get to me,” Rickard still kept his composure but his hand was reaching for Ice. He hadn't been gifted with any power like some of his children or ancestors were, but he was damn good with a sword.

“You know your histories, don't you Clegane? No? Then let me enlighten you. When King Aegon and his family came here with Fire and Blood, they conquered all but two kingdoms with three of their dragons. It took nine of them to gain the fealty of the North after they swore to help them with problems North of the Wall.

“I brought six giants here today and there are more up North who would be willing to tear this palace to pieces. It wasn't the Westerlands or the Stormlands, or even the Eyrie that helped win the fight in the Riverlands. It was the North. And the North would gladly raise hell upon all of you if you don't let me go. So, decisions.”

By now it was deathly silent, save for Robert's heaving breaths. Rickard had drawn his sword and waited. Rickard hoped that a fight would happen. He could hopefully gain justice for the innocents that had been harmed here this day or die in the attempt.

“Let him go,” Tywin Lannister said reluctantly, bitterly. He couldn't actively hold a fellow Warden as a hostage without legal precedent and he had none to offer. Rickard turned to give him a curt nod of acknowledgment and he received a cold look in return. He chanced a glance at Robert and hid a grimace. The boy's face was as red as an apple and his eyes were mad with blood lust. How Rickard ever thought to marry his only girl to him was a mystery.

I am sorry Steffon, but there is something wrong with your boy. I only wish that I caught it sooner.

* * *

 

“Rickard! Lord Rickard!” Jon Arryn called to him as he mounted his horse. Snow, Rickard's Direwolf, growled at the other man, causing him to halt.

“What do you want Jon?”

“Was all of that necessary?” Jon demanded. “Did you really need to do any of that?”

“Three innocent lives were butchered Jon and countless others were killed and raped, what would you have me do?”

“This is what happens in war-”

“The war was over,” Eddard growled out from beside his father, his own Direwolf, Honor, growling with him. “That's the only reason that Lannister even came out of hiding!”

“Its in the past Ned,” Jon said softly. “We can only look towards the future.”

“Aye, and our future is one without the Iron Throne in it,” Rickard gave Jon a glare when he made to protest. “It was the dragons we bowed too Jon, not the Stags. Until a dragon sits upon that Throne, the North as a whole will not support it or leave its borders in an unnecessary manner.”

And such generous borders too, Jon thought with resignation as he saw the fire in the eyes of his friend. Dorne and the North were lost this day and Jon prayed to the Seven that they never allied together or they would box them in and crush them all.

“Would you at least lift the siege on Storms End?” Jon asked. “And if there is news on Lyanna-”

“Steffon's boys will not suffer one more moment of that fool Tyrell's company,” Rickard cut him off curtly. “I owe Steffon that much. I would take them both as my squires if it wouldn't incur Robert's wrath.”

We both know that Robert cares not one lick about his brothers, Jon thought sadly. If Rickard took them both with him then Robert would only complain about not having someone to watch the Stormlands for him, not about their leaving.

Jon was also sad that his friend was also going to withdraw the betrothal agreement between his daughter and Robert. It would probably be for the best really. She may be dead or worse, pregnant with Rhaegar's child. Robert would see it killed and the North would respond in kind.

Rickard's kingdom stretched to the Iron Islands, often referred to as the Sunset Port, and to the Three Sisters, also known as the Narrow Port. They even had an alliance with Braavos which would hold to the end of time as far as anyone was concerned. They had the man power and the resources to fight for as long as they wanted, never mind the beasts that they could control or the gifts they had.

The only reason that the war wasn't over immediately was because Rickard was more interested in Justice than Vengeance and their forces were too great to rally that quickly. Not to mention that the Iron Born were fighting amongst themselves about who to back in this war. House Greyjoy no longer controlled those lands and one of Wyman Manderly's sons took control of it.

Rickard had to deal with that fall out first before he could move on. He, Ned and Robert had gotten into enough fights to stall their movements for extended periods of time. The River Lords fighting for the Throne hadn't helped matters either.

“I wish you good fortune in the years to come,” Rickard said, interrupting Jon from his thoughts.

“You as well,” Jon replied honestly. No matter what, Rickard would always be his friend, no, his brother. And Ned would always be his son.

A son who could only look at him with shame.

* * *

 

**Storms End, Sometime later**

“My thanks, Lord Stark,” Stannis Baratheon said through gritted teeth and as his men feasted on the food that was given.

 “Nephew,” Rickard said warningly. He and Steffon were not born brothers but they had sworn blood oaths to one another. That made all the difference in the eyes of the Old Gods. Robert was his nephew in this manner as well, but he had been raised by another and Rickard felt nothing for him now.

 “Thank you uncle,” Stannis said a little less stiffly.

 “Fank yoo -” Renly said through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

 "You're welcome, lad.” Rickard gave the youngest Baratheon a smile as Stannis frowned at his appalling manners. “Is there anything else you need before we leave, nephew?”

 Stannis paused in thought then leaned over towards Rickard, “Would it be too much trouble to ask you to take Renly up North?” He asked quietly.

 “Of course not,” Rickard's reply was just as quiet. “But what of you?”

 “I have to stay behind, this is my home and mine by rights. If Robert denies it too me or asks too much of me, I will take the first ship I can North. Renly shouldn't be here for that, not after all he has experienced.”

 “Very well, is there anything else?”

 “Take Ser Davos with you, please,” Stannis nodded to a man who stood to the side and looked out of place. “He's a good man. He brought us food when we needed it and I knighted him as a reward. He was a smuggler though, so I also took his fingers as punishment but he understood my reasoning. I would have him watch over Renly as his sworn sword. You would need to take his family in as well.”

 Rickard nodded his consent, a plan forming in his mind and he examined to Ser Davos. Even with all the families that sprouted up with the migration of the Free Folk centuries ago, there was still enough land to spare. A small keep wouldn't be that difficult to give to a newly anointed knight.

 “Uncle,” Stannis gave his shoulder a bit of a squeeze, breaking him from his thoughts.

 “Yes?”

 “Are you sure you can trust them?” Stannis gave a slight glare to Ser Barristan Selmy and Thoros of Myr, who sat next to one another. Ser Barristan looked extremely uncomfortable being around his fellow Stormlanders. To be fair, he did fight for their enemy before bending the knee and fighting for them, so the occasional glare he got wasn't that surprising.

 Thoros on the other hand, looked happier than a pig in shit. He ate the lot, drank the lot and partook in the festivities with gusto. He wasn't lying when he said he was a bit of a glutton.

 “Ser Barristan is coming with us to Dorne so he can speak with his fellow knights,” Rickard explained. Barristan had promised to try and get his fellow knights to lay down their arms to the best of his ability. Of course, it wasn't confirmed that they were in Dorne, but there had been enough rumblings and whispers for Rickard to not openly dismiss it. “I trust him enough to do that.”

 “And the other one?”

 Stannis would never trust religion or anyone who preached it. He didn't care if was the Old Gods, The New Gods or the Lord of Light. He just didn't trust it.

 “His religion is foreign but he doesn't believe in it. I am not entirely sure that I can trust in him.” Rickard admitted. “But he saved my sons life during battle and the only boon he asked of me was for sanctuary against his old order. Seems like a small price to pay really.”

 His nephew pursed his lips in disapproval but let the subject drop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before someone says it, no I am not bashing Robert. I don't like the character, or any of his brothers if I'm honest but from some peoples point of view, Robert is not a good person. And its mentioned here that there were several arguments prior to this event. I didn't show it because I feel this point in time was more relevant to the overall arc I have planed. I will reference and maybe even flash back to it later but this is a major moment in canon and in this story.


	4. Yield

**Ser Arthur Dayne, outside of the Tower**

Arthur could hear the horses in the distance and removed his cloak, letting it drop to the ground. He picked up his helmet from the rock he placed it on with resignation. He was almost tempted to leave Dawn behind and use his Kingsguard weapon but decided against it. He unclasped his belt, letting his second sword fall with a sigh.

He unsheathed Dawn and the great-sword glimmered in the sunlight.

“The Dawn may yield to Ice this day,” He murmured to himself. “But Ice will have to earn its victory.”

He walked with Dawn held in a reverse grip at the base of the guard, trekking down towards his sworn brothers. Both hated the heat, it was plan to see in their faces but their love for Rhaegar was enough of a reminder for them to soldier on.

“Arthur,” Lord Commander Gerold greeted him gruffly. “I don't feel comfortable with you taking the lead on this matter.”

Oswell grunted his agreement with that statement and gave Arthur a gimlet eye. Arthur knew that both of them questioned his loyalty to their cause, given both his ancestry and Arthur's more than healthy respect of the Starks. Or rather, the respect he had for them. He couldn't respect the current heir for what he did to his sister, Ashara.

“I have been here the entire time as I swore to do, Lord Commander,” Arthur replied coldly. “What more do you want from me?”

“The Starks are traitors, I don't believe them to be honorable in this case.”

“What does that have to do with me and my request to treat with them?”

“You were one of the Hersir before you were Kingsguard,” Oswell spat at him, Arthur could hear the horses getting closer. “What's to stop you from joining with them against us?”

Arthur knew that the Hersir were far from respected outside of the Northern Kingdom and whatever pockets of First Men families were left. It was something that many South of the Neck tried to abolish with little success. Prior to this war, no one had really treated Arthur badly in the Kingsguard because of what he was. Rhaegar had even been fascinated by it.

But now, things had changed and his friends were not his friends any longer. They were scared Andals who were reminded of the power of the First Men. The power they could have had if they banded together to fight the foreign invaders.

“If you truly have a problem with it, then kill me now and deal with the rebels on your own.” Arthur tossed his sword to the side and spread his arms wide.

“Pick up your bloody sword,” Ser Gerold grumbled after a moment of tense silence. “We don't have time for this.”

Arthur did as he was told and began to walk away, his sworn brothers followed behind him. He could see the Northern warriors walking towards them with a few people that didn't belong, like Ser Barristan.

Arthur walked a bit further before plunging his sword into the ground. Many a sword maker or enthusiasts would chastise him for such an act but Dawn could handle such treatment. It was not a simple blade after all.

Arthur tucked his helmet into the crook of his arm and eyed the opposing force of twenty men. A sardonic look crossed his face before he addressed the leader, “Lord Stark.” His brothers footsteps stopped behind him.

“Ser Arthur,” Lord Rickard nodded at him. “Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell.”

Neither of them replied in any manner that Arthur could hear or see.

“In the name of our ancestors, and in the name of the true Gods of Westeros, I wish to treat with you personally, Lord Stark.”

That didn't seem to surprise the older man who responded quickly with a nod.

“We searched for you on the Trident.”

“We weren't there,” Arthur said lightly.

“The Usurper would rot in all Seven Hells had we been,” Oswell growled out.

“Along with all of you.”Gerold added.

Arthur tilted his head slightly and fought the urge to roll his eyes. There went his plan to get their surrender.

“The Mad King is dead, and Rhaegar lies beneath the ground,” Eddard Stark snapped at them. “Why weren't you there to protect your prince?”

“Our _King_ wanted us here, to protect his wife and child.” Arthur snapped back with a glare. How dare you speak to us in such a manner, Arthur thought angrily.

“So she ran away with him,” Rickard Stark looked sad while the others looked shocked or bristled at what they must have felt was a lie. “Why didn't she say anything?”

“She wrote you missive my Lord, she had it sent to her brother, Lord Brandon.” Arthur said more respectfully.

“Brandon never received any letter, he wouldn't have done what he did if he had.” Eddard Stark snarled out as his father gave him a warning glance.

“It doesn't matter, you're traitors to the crown, you broke your oaths,” Arthur said calmly. “And in the culture of the First Men, we know what happens to oath breakers.” Arthur donned his silver helm and hefted his sword. The ringing sound of metal being drawn from their sheaths rang out behind him.

“Brothers, this doesn't need to end like this, surrender.” Barristan pleaded with them as more swords were drawn.

“We're not your brothers anymore Barristan,” Gerold snarled and Arthur found himself in complete agreement so he didn't stop him. “Jonothor Darry was our brother. Prince Lewyn Martell was our brother. How could you kill him? Why would you betray him? How could you and Ser Jaime betray your sacred oath?”

Ser Barristan said nothing but he did stare at them somberly as he drew his sword.

“I give you this one chance to surrender to the true heir of Iron Throne,” Arthur called out. “On my honor as the Sword of the Morning, we will be merciful to those that lay down their arms.”

None of them replied so he spoke again.

“We all swore oaths to protect our queen and her child or die trying. We will be keeping these oaths. Now lay down your arms!”

“I will see my daughter with or without your permission, Ser Arthur,” Lord Rickard replied heatedly. “I will not yield to you.” Grey eyes met with purple and narrowed.

“Then so be it,” Arthur took a deep breath and readied himself. He met the charging warriors head on, ready to kill as many as he could before the Stranger could claim him.

* * *

**Lord Rickard Stark, inside the Tower**

The door swung open when he kicked it in. There lay his daughter, pale and covered in sweat.

“Father, is that you,” Rickard ignored the Maester and what he assumed was a wet nurse holding a bundle and went to his daughter.

“Aye Lya, its me.”

“It is you, you're not a dream,” She said weakly. He grasped her hand and kissed her forehead.

“No sweet girl, I'm not a dream.” Oh Lyarra, I've failed our daughter, Rickard thought as his eyes began to fill with tears. Tears of relief and sadness as he stared at his little girl. His daughter was dying, he knew just by looking at her. And if the Maester here hadn't been able to help her, then this may be the last conversation he had with her.

“What's wrong with her? Is she hot? Then get her some water,” Ned voice snapped from behind him.

“Ned,” Lyanna called out, her voice a bit stronger than before.

“Lya,” Ned joined them and rubbed her arm awkwardly. “What happened to you? What did Rhaegar do to you?”

“Nothing I didn't want,” Lyanna whimpered and she started to cry. “I'm so sorry about Brandon. I didn't mean for that to happen.” Tears leaked down her face even though she shut her eyes tightly to stop them.

“That wasn't your fault, you didn't know,” Even if Rickard wanted to blame her he couldn't. He needed to only look into her eyes to know that she blamed herself with more intensity than he could ever dream of doing.

“I want to be strong father but I don't have much time. Please you have to -” She stopped with another loud whimper. The cry of a babe erupted from the bundle that the other woman was holding in response. “Bring her here, Wylla. Give her to my father.”

Her? Rickard thought, turning to the one known as Wylla as she approached him cautiously. She handed the bundle off and he peered at the tiny red face that howled up at him.

“Visenya, this is your grandfather,” Lyanna continued and the babe stopped crying at her voice, its face still flushed. Rickard stared at his newest grandchild who stared back with teary Grey-purple eyes and tiny whimpers. Her hair was mostly dark but he could see the makings of a small strip of pale blond hair. There was no mistaking whose child this was.

“She's beautiful,” Ned said softly reaching out to caress his niece. Visenya cooed at the touch and nuzzled her cheek against her uncles hand.

“Like her mother,” Rickard murmured his agreement. Lyanna touched his face, gaining his attention.

“I have no right to ask this of you, but promise me that you'll protect her,” His daughter pleaded with him. “Ser Arthur told me about what happened to poor Aegon and Rhaenys, Robert will kill my daughter if he finds out. Don't let that happen, please. Promise me father, promise me.”

“I promise Lya, I will protect her.” How could he say no to his daughters dying wish? Lyanna gave him a smile, one filled with relief and pain before her face relaxed and her head tilted further into the pillow it rested on. Rickard shifted his granddaughter so that he could hold her in one arm. He reached a hand towards his daughters face and closed her eyes. His eyes closed in grief but he refused to cry. Now was the time to be strong, he could grieve later.

“Ned, hold your niece,” He held Visenya out towards his son. Ned took her awkwardly, unused to holding such a small and precious thing. Rickard stood tall and leveled a glare at the woman and Maester in the room.

“I know your name,” He said coldly to Wylla who gulped nervously, “But I don't know yours.” He shifted his glare to the Maester.

“My name is Luwin my Lord.” The man said calmly hands raised in a placating fashion.

“Of House?”

“I was born in the Reach, but I have no house.” Typical Maester response, but one that often rang false. His own Maester, Walys, hadn't bothered to tell him the truth of his parentage or that he was selling information to the Citadel about his kingdom. Rickard had the man removed but he was pressured to find a new one by the same organization that benefited from these grey spies.

Rickard glanced at Ned who nodded his head slightly. Luwin was telling the truth then. A good start.

“Very well, I want you both to tell what happened during your time here. I would hear all of it.”

 


	5. The Black Star

**Lord Aelyr Dayne, Starfall**

“Dawn, my lord Dayne.” Ser Eddard Stark held the great sword out to him with a tired expression and with a bit of apprehension.

'He thinks I would use it to kill him,' Lord Aelyr Dayne thought while clenching his jaw, glancing at the assembled men in front of him. 'As if I would sully our ancestral blade with the blood of this Oathbreaker.' Of course, Aelyr did concede that his reputation was probably a factor in things. He didn't earn the name Black Star just because he was born with dark hair unlike his siblings. Not to mention that he now lost both of his siblings and good father to these people.

Aelyr grasped Dawn by the middle with one hand and handed it to one of his guards, “You know where that goes.” He murmured then dismissed the man with a wave. Aelyr turned to his wife and took the pot she was holding from her. He removed the lid covering it and plucked one of the rolls of bread from it.

“Your salted bread,” Aelyr took a bite from the piece he took and held out the pot to Eddard. Aelyr almost rolled his eyes as the younger man still hesitated. “If I wanted any of you dead, I wouldn't have let you into my home. I would have let you roast in the heat.”

His words had meant to be reassuring but his tone had been flat, bordering on harsh. The men in front of tensed and he sighed.

“I assume we have a lot to discuss,” He said directly to Lord Rickard. “Your men can eat with mine near the armory. And the babe you brought could use some shade.” He nodded at the woman holding an infant. He didn't bother to mention the Maester.

How did this band of rebels come across a woman and a babe? Why bring them here? There was nothing remarkable about...his eyes narrowed as he got a good look at the babe's eyes and hair. 'Oh Rhaegar, you mad bastard.'

“If you're not going to come in, then please state whatever business you have left and leave peacefully.”

Eddard Stark took the pot and a piece of bread and bit into it. He handed it to one of the others and it was passed around. Lord Rickard Stark came up to him with a chest after he had taken his bread.

“Ser Arthur's bones.” He said quietly

“You have my thanks,” Aelyr said flatly, taking the chest from the Northmen. He moved to hand the chest to one of the guards but he paused and turned back, “Which one of you slayed my brother?”

“It was I,” Lord Stark answered. “He fought with honor.”

'Did you?' Aelyr thought with anger though he kept such thoughts from showing on his face. 'At least Stark had the balls to face me, I can give him that much.'

His wife, Princess Leona, had watched everything silently but no one could deny that she was angry and above all, grieving, “Where are my father's bones?” She demanded harshly.

“His grace King Robert will have them sent here with the utmost care.” Ser Barristan replied quietly, looking at her with pity. Leona looked at him as if he were a bug that she wanted to squash.

“I'll believe it when I see it, Oathbreaker.” She snapped at him before turning to her husband. “I will take my leave husband. The stench of treachery is rife in the air and it overwhelms me.”

She left before Aelyr could respond, one of the guards following behind. Aelyr gave no outward reaction, he just handed the chest in his hands to another guard.

“Take it to Maester Jargar, tell him to prepare my brother's place in the crypt.” Now wasn't the time to grieve, now was the time for business. “This way, my lords,” Aelyr called over his shoulder and started walking towards Orion's Shield, the dining area of Starfall, named after his ancestor Orion Dayne.

* * *

 

Aelyr cut into his meat before eying Eddard Stark who sat silently by his father. The meal was awkward by any standard but Aelyr couldn't bring himself to care.

“She loved you,” He said suddenly to the future Warden of the North. “Ashara, I mean. Did you feel the same?”

“I did,” Ned admitted quietly and then even quieter. “I still do. And I am sorry to hear that she passed.”

Lord Rickard gave his son a small look of sympathy. The others at the table said nothing but Ser Barristan had a gimlet look in his eye. Aelyr snorted derisively.

“You have a funny way of showing it, Ser Stark.” Aelyr put his cutlery down and narrowed his eyes. “My sister gave everything to you. Her soul, her love...her body. You promised to make her your wife but you didn't. You had one of the brightest stars to ever exist and you settled for a damn fish.”

“Whatever grievances you have with me, I would ask you to leave my wife out of it,” Ned Stark stared at him with tired and sad eyes but he spoke firmly.

“You are in my home, at my expense, Ser, I'll speak however I like.” Aelyr spat back before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will not make any harsh demands of you, but you will pay for what you have done.”

“Talk of payment should be made to me, I am his father and the lord of his house.” Rickard Stark reminded him calmly.

“But you shouldn't be made to pay for the stupidity of your son, Lord Stark,” Came the cool counter from Aelyr. “And I already swore to my sister that her son would know his father.”

“I-I have a son,” Eddard sputtered in shock.

“A healthy one, his name is Jonothor although he answers to Jon all the same.” He turned to Rickard. “How many bastard grandchildren does that make for you, Lord Rickard. Two? Three?” His eyes drifted to the babe being held protectively by the lone woman amongst them.

“I only have two bastard grandchildren. Markus by my son Brandon and now Jonothor,” Lord Rickard's face became rather pinched. Whether it was because of what he said or what he hadn't said, Aelyr wasn't sure.

“Then this one is true borne,” Aelyr's eyes flickered between the babe and the Warden of the North. “Those two selfish fools got married.” It wasn't a question and he did not expect an answer.

He snorted, “Rhaegar made sure that his precious she wolf was protected but couldn't be bothered to do the same for his first wife and their children. Disgusting.” He muttered and leaned back into his chair. He stared at Eddard for a few moments.

“She looks like you Ser,” Aelyr reached for his cup as he decided to give them a way out in case they didn't have one. “There is no trace of my sister in her but hopefully she will be just as beautiful. Congratulations on your children, Jonothor and Lyarra, Ser Eddard of house Stark.”

He raised his cup in salute to the surprise of them all except the Crannog lord, Howland Reed. Aelyr was angry at the mistreatment of his sister and his wife's cousin Elia, but he didn't want this babe to suffer for the mistakes of her parents. He would see her live as happily as she could and should she wish to claim the throne, he would help her if only to avenge all the lives lost.

He would get the full story later but for now, this would be enough.

The others raised their cups and he received two cautious but grateful looks. Don't thank me just yet, He thought.

“There are demands I have, of course.” Aelyr continued after everyone drank from their cups.

“Name them.”

“Both my niece and nephew will be treated respectfully. I do not expect you to treat them better than the rest of your grandchildren but they will not be cast aside like dirty rags.”

“Granted,” Rickard Stark seemed impressed that Aelyr already adopted the facade so easily. Aelyr was a bit nervous about the others but considering they didn't seem to be surprised about the babes origins, they must have sworn to keep it quiet.

“I expect Jonothor to return to Dorne when he is a man grown,” This next part would be a hard sell to his wife but he would see his nephew be given what he needed. “Whether he is a member of the Hersir or not is irrelevant. He will be given High Hermitage all the same.”

“Is that wise,” Eddard asked him with a frown. “That castle usually belonged to a Dayne.”

“And it will, even if his name is anything but Dayne.” Don't make this anymore difficult you fool. The castle was supposed to be given to his son Lewyn and his wife would raise all kinds of hell over this. “It is big enough for Jonothor and whatever friends he makes should he feel the need to bring them. Big enough to support a family even.”

The reception from the two Starks was mixed at best. They probably thought to keep him in the North and give him land there. That would have been acceptable but Aelyr wanted him here where he could be watched. He was the last piece of his sister and Aelyr wouldn't part from him easily.

“I expect a good match for Lyarra and as much protection as possible. Whether she comes here is up to her entirely. I have nothing to give her other than my support and love.”

The space between the lines were easily read but hopefully he left it ambiguous enough in his declarations.

“Is that all, Lord Dayne?”

“As far as demands go, yes. There is still one more thing however.” Aelyr turned to the guard near the door. “Bring my nephew and the gift my sister left for lord Stark and his son.” The guard nodded his head and left.

The others stared at him in confusion but he merely sipped his juice. When the guard returned with what was requested both Rickard Stark and his son shot to their feet, their chairs were launched away from them and crashed to the floor. The sudden noise scared the babe who made his displeasure known.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rickard Stark demanded when he stared at the man holding whom he presumed was his other grandson.

The person lifted his chin, and the rope burns there were more visible. His face was scarred but his grey eyes shone brightly.

“Hello father,” Brandon Stark rasped, bouncing their shared nephew to calm him. “I am happy to see you.”

Unknown to them all, Princess Leona had heard the entire thing from her hiding spot. She grit her teeth to keep from speaking but she silently vowed that all these traitors would pay, especially her husband.


	6. Better Judgment

**Lord Jon Arryn, The Red Keep**

Jon Arryn had never seen his foster son so upset before. Angry and turbulent as any storm, but never depressed. He was so upset that he didn't even drink as much as he usually would.

“Robert, Renly is here in the city, do you wish to see him?”

He received no response outside of a growl. It was a growl of warning if ever he heard one.

“Robert -”

“I have no patience for brats right now,” Jon gave a resigned sigh.

“He's your brother -”

“I have no patience for that either,” Robert glared at him. “Not after hearing about how those traitors were taking my beloved to that frozen wasteland instead of bringing her here. She belongs in a place where the sun can shine on her not in a fucking crypt! She belongs with me.” The last part was whispered and if it wasn't so quiet in the room, Jon didn't think he would hear it.

She was never yours, Jon wanted to say. He wanted to remind his foster son that Lyanna never fancied him when they met for the first time. He wanted to remind him of the fact that he was soon to be king and he would need to put aside any personal matter for the good of the kingdoms.

Taking a good look at his foster son, Jon realized that it would do no good. Robert hardly listened to him when he was in a good mood and on a good day as it was, but now he was unreasonable. It had been days since they received word about Renly's impending arrival and the death of Lyanna Stark. Robert was more focused on the latter than the fact that his flesh and blood needed him now.

“I'll deal with Renly then,” Jon sighed again when Robert just muttered to himself, mainly about how to deal with the Stark family.

“I'll deal with all the fuckers myself if I have too,” He heard Robert say as he made his way to the door. “I'll kill them all.”

Jon began making plans for preempting his foster son or for the fall out that would follow. He also had to make plans to appease Lord Tywin on the apparent misplacement of his son, Ser Jaime. Gods be good, why did that boy have to leave after he was released from his vows?

* * *

 

**Ser Davos, The Red Keep**

Davos could hardly contain himself when he set his eyes upon his wife. He picked her up and gave her a hearty kiss, mindful of the babe she held.

“Davos, what's happening? Why are we leaving?” Marya frowned at his hand. “What happened to you?” She demanded, their other children shuffling nervously at her tone.

“I will explain my love but we must leave now, I've managed to secure us a better place to live.” He ushered her towards the ship that Lord Stannis had given him as a gift to take his brother to the North. Marya frowned at him but she complied with their children following.

Lord Renly stood near the ship, speaking to an older man with Thoros of Myr and Ser Mark Ryswell standing guard. Davos took note of the distressed look on the young lords face and the tense postures of his fellow guards.

“Stannis and I held our home for him,” Renly said angrily, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, hands formed into fists. “We betrayed our king, we broke the law and he won't even come say goodbye to me?!”

The little Lords voice grew steadily louder with each word until he practically screamed the last word. Davos ushered his wife to board the ship while his youngest child started to cry. Renly looked at him then his child and just covered his face as his shoulders shook.

“Perhaps you should take the young lord to his quarters, Ser Davos.” Mark Ryswell didn't bother to take his eye off of the man Lord Renly had yelled at.

“Aye, he seems tired. Maybe he should rest.” Thoros opined with a rather lazy gesture but Davos saw the dark look in the eyes of the priest from Myr. Renly snapped a glare in his direction but Marya placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Come along young one,” She still bounced their wailing son but she gently ushered young Renly away with their children. Some way during the trip, Renly huddled into her side and cried some more.

“I cannot allow him to leave,” The older man said after a moment and Davos felt his spine tense at his words. His mangled hand pressed itself against the scabbard of the sword he was given and he took point with his fellow warriors.

Warrior? He scoffed internally. He was nothing more than an orphan from Flea Bottom who somehow made it to knighthood. He was no Duncan the Tall, meaning he could brawl with the best of them but he was normal sized and lacked skill with a sword. His lack of fingers was going to be a problem as well.

“My liege has commanded me and these men to take that boy North, we all swore that we would.” Ser Mark said calmly before he clucked his tongue. The horses that came with the men in front of them jerked a little the trotted up to their side and stared at their riders aggressively . Ser Mark had said that he was good with horses, but Davos did not take that to mean that he could exert some control over them.

There was growling from behind them. Davos didn't need to turn to know that it was the Direwolves that sailed with them, the fear on the faces of the knights in front of them told him the whole story.

“My liege respects you lord Arryn,” Ser Mark continued. Ah, Davos thought, this was Jon Arryn. The man who needed to take a young bride though his heir had already been decided. Davos couldn't pity the man more than he already did. He didn't have his letters or a lot of his numbers really, but he had spent enough time around high born people to know that this man was in for a world of trouble.

“But respect only goes so far. Lord Renly will foster in the North as was requested by the lord of Storms End, Stannis Baratheon.”

“The King will decide what happens to his brother,” Jon Arryn returned, looking unperturbed by the change of events.

“Your King has no say in this,” Thoros shrugged. “If he's even king for that long.”

“You would threaten his grace-”

“Oh shut up man,” Thoros interrupted the blustering knight that began to speak. “I don't threaten. Robert's a good fighter and an even better drinker but don't tell me that everyone will be falling before him after all that has happened.

“I may be a foreigner but Westerosi politics is not that foreign of a concept. Robert has more enemies than he can count and he needs all the help that he can get. His biggest supporters don't support him any more and anyone that could support him, well, they'll want something in return. Something that he might not be able to pay.”

Davos, as if possessed, spoke up, “This ship will leave even if we are not on it. The people on this ship will die protecting Lord Renly and the other passengers. My friends and I will die here to give them the chance to flee. You and your men may die as well. Could you leave your foster son without your guidance, Lord Arryn. Have you raised him enough to let him stand alone?”

Jon Arryn considered him for a moment.

“You speak out of place, Ser...?”

“Davos, of house Seaworth, m'lord.”

“I must confess, Ser Davos, that I've not heard of your house.”

“It's rather new I'm afraid.”

“And what gives you the right to speak to me in such a way?”

“Nothing of import really,” Davos said honestly. “Even though I've been knighted, and I am to be given Northern Lands, I am still a former smuggler and son of a crabber. I'm not the most educated man here but I know men. From what I've heard, you seem to be a good sort my lord.”

“I can't say that I've ever been complimented by a crabbers son before,” Jon Arryn looked at him with intrigue instead of disdain like all the others usually did. “How is it that you became a knight and in the service of Lord Rickard Stark?”

“I smuggled some food to Storms End, Lord Stannis rewarded me with a knighthood and a shorter hand.” Davos showed him the mangled appendage. “For my crimes I lost the joints. A more than fair trade I say.”

Lord Arryn still looked at him the same way but the other two knights snickered at his hand. Laugh now you bastards, we'll see if you'll be laughing when this is all over. Davos thought with a slight scowl.

“And why did you do such a thing?”

“I heard about what was happening to all those people,” Davos began. “How after all this time they still held strong. I admired that and I grew concerned when I heard that they were low on food. I know what its like to starve and I've seen people die from a lack of things to eat. I had the food and the means to help and well...no one ever said that I was smart.”

He wasn't going to mention that a note was given to his wife from Queen Rhaella, begging him to help her cousins children. She left two bags of gold for his family as extra means to get him to do the job. In times like these, Davos knew that any mention of the destroyed royal house would see him jailed or dead. The only one who knew beside his wife was Lord Stannis and probably Lord Rickard now that he thought about it.

“I suppose the reward was a nice bonus then?” Jon Arryn gave him a raised eyebrow.

“Yes it was, since it means that my family will have a better life. And a home that doesn't lead to a street covered in shit. I won't say I'm sorry about my past or the reward I got.” He added with a hint of defiance.

“Nor should you be,” Jon Arryn murmured with a small smile. “Any man worth his salt will do what is necessary to protect and provide for his family. I commend you Ser Davos.”

Davos was still a little fuzzy on the meaning of that word but he remembered that it meant good things so he nodded his head. The knights standing near the old lord still looked at him with disdain.

“You three leave me in difficult position.” The old lord sighed. “I cannot, in good conscience, allow the kings youngest brother go to a kingdom that has rescinded its support of the Iron Throne.”

Davos tensed further and readied himself to draw his sword.

“However, I tire of fighting and this potential skirmish will not help promote peace. Against my better judgment, I will let you go. Be warned that his grace will not like this and will retaliate in some fashion.”

Davos did not relax until his feet was firmly on the deck of the ship and they were sailing further out of the bay. When the city was in the distance behind him and no one seemed to follow, he breathed a sigh of relief. As he made his way to his family, Ser Mark and Thoros gave him sharp nods of approval.

“You did well,” Ser Mark said with a grin and Thoros just drank and nodded his head. “You'll have to learn how to fight, so your threats don't sound like a bluff next time.”

“Who said there's going to be a next time,” He shot back with a slight smile that turned into a grimace when some of the crew hauled a man towards them and threw him at their feet.

“Stowaway Sers,” One of the men, Bane as he was called, “Found 'im behind some of the cargo.”

The stowaway lifted his blonde head and green eyes looked at them with slight amusement.

“Ser Jaime?” Mark exclaimed in surprise. “What in the seven hells are you doing on this ship?!”

“What does it look like, I'm traveling with you of course.” The younger knight smirked. “As cold as the North is said to be, its better than the shit hole we just left.”

Well I'll be buggered, Davos thought with a groan and he put one hand to his face. They barely got away with taking lord Renly with them, now they had this one to deal with. What were they supposed to do now?


	7. A Lion Still Has Claws

**Ser Benjen Stark, Moat Cailin**

Benjen sighed as he took a seat in the White Wolf hall of Moat Cailin, his cousins stronghold. His wife, Dacey, sat next to him, placing her mace in front of her. A serving girl passed them some mead and some bread to start their day as they waited for Harlon to arrive.

“What do you think was so important that he couldn't just send us a raven and not make us stay here?” Dacey asked irritably.

“I know not,” Benjen replied. “But Harlon is no fool, if something is important to him and he wants no one else to know about this, I will sit here and listen.” He glanced at her with a side ways look and almost smirked. “So eager to get back to Castle Cerwyn are you?”

Dacey gave him a slight glare and clipped his shoulder. He fought back a wince. Damn her bear strength, he thought, rubbing his shoulder slightly.

“I barely even grazed you,” She smirked at his discomfort. It had always been like this, ever since they fostered at Castle Cerwyn. While they did love each other, their relationship started out as a rivalry that only children of seven could have. By the time they were old enough and wise enough to understand that human emotions were vast and varied, they had almost bungled their more mature relationship due to a lack of communication.

Benjen remembered the day he asked her to marry him. It had come after nearly a month of brooding and she was starting to lose her patience with him. His best friends, Larence and Callum, had told him to stop moping and get on with it or else one of them would do it. Callum was going to marry Wylla, Lord Manderly's daughter even though he had kept that a secret from them and her family at the time. Benjen's ears still rang from the shouting that ensued when the fat lord found out.

Larence, on the other hand, would have at least pretended to like Dacey to get him to take action. He was a much better swordsman than Benjen, as evidenced by the fact that he cut through many of the rebel Iron Born fighters without much effort. Him having the blood of a Berserker probably helped some.

“And it wouldn't do for a castle as great as ours to not have its new Lord and Lady.”

Benjen sighed, thinking back to the day that his father had told him the news about Lord Medger's will.

“Should he and his son die, he wants you or Dacey to inherit the castle and all that it entails.”

“But father, I'm not a Cerwyn,” Benjen said in shock. “And there are others who could take it surely?”

“No,” His father shook his head. “Not in Westeros at least. There are some Cerwyn's amongst the Winter Rose but they are too foreign in their ways to truly understand what it means to live and rule here. Medger views you and Dacey as two of his children, a bond that I am grateful you formed. If you do not wish to have it, I will have to raise up a Ser or Dame to a new status and gift it to them. If his daughter still lived, I would have given it to her without question.”

Benjen didn't feel entirely comfortable but he reluctantly accepted the idea. He didn't think that Lord Medger and Cley would die anytime soon. He had hoped that this would never become an issue or that his father would find a more suitable option. His father had pulled him aside after he named Wendel Manderly the Lord of Pyke and Warden of the Sunset Sea, to deliver the bad news.

Lord Medger had been found, dying next to his decapitated son. The wounds were too severe and he wasn't expected to survive. And thus, Benjen had been named Lord of Castle Cerwyn and Shield of Winterfell.

“No, it wouldn't do for such a thing,” Benjen turned to see Larence Nightfall striding over to them. “It might give off the wrong impression to the other lords and ladies.” He sat across from them, placing his Valyrian blade on the table.

“So, have either of you decided to change your names now that you own the castle?”

The political ramifications of his new lordship was not lost on him. The other houses would grumble about a Stark child getting more land when they did not. Many complained when his cousin was gifted Moat Cailin, named Warden of the Causeway, and spent a lot of money to fix it. Not even the promise of free passage to any Northman or the fact that he changed his name from Stark to Frost, a name no one had heard of in centuries, cooled their rising tempers.

At least the Northern Lords were consistent. Benjen's other cousin and Harlon's older brother, Ser Artos, was given land in the Black Brier Forrest, the smallest part of the Wolfswood that was also close to Winterfell though part of those lands nearly encroached on Tallhart territory and that of Deepwood Motte.

Artos was an absolute shit at times but he was respectful when the occasion called for it and even took a new name in the hopes of appeasing some lords for all the good it did him. He was now the leader of house Blackfang of Brier Wood Keep.

“No we haven't,” Dacey shrugged at Larence. “We've thought of many names. Cerstark, Monstark, Morstark, so on and so forth. Nothing worked.”

“Why not Dacen or Bency? Or a mixture of the two?” Larence just rolled his eyes when they stared at him incredulously. “I had to take the name of my new sword to think of a name for myself. Is it so surprising that my ideas were shit?”

“I still don't know why you did that,” Benjen wrinkled his nose. “The last person who did that was Daemon Blackfyre.”

“His family is still around in the East,” Larence half shrugged and looked at his sword with affection. “He was a bastard like me and since we Northmen like to appropriate Southern practices, well, could you blame me? Lady Donella was right about one thing, I would never be a Hornwood or have ownership of my father's lands. But as a Nightfall? The sky is the limit. I have my own sigil, my own name, now I can serve one of my oldest friends properly.”

“Whether you were a Snow or Nightfall, you would always be welcome in my home,” Benjen said firmly with his wife nodding along.

“At least I'm welcome somewhere.” Larence muttered bitterly and Benjen frowned. His friend had been effectively cast out of Hornwood, albeit with reluctance on his brother, Halys, part. His sister by law, Donella, treated him like the plague, mainly due to the teachings of the Seven with which she was so fond. Not even when he saved her and her son, Daryn, from a black snow leopard, did she think to welcome him to the only home that he ever knew.

“How about Redstark?” Dacey asked, patting his sword. “This used to be Red Rain, why not pay tribute to that?”

“Because I'm pretty sure that this belonged to house Reyne and then it ended up in the hands of house Drumm. The name worked well for them but I feel no need to pay tribute to it.”

Wolf's Retribution was its new name and that was all that needed to be said. He almost shuddered when he thought about the fight that earned him this blade. An Iron Born raider had charged at him, sword and axe in hand. He removed the axe with no problem but the sword fight lasted longer than he expected, mainly due to the fact that the raider fought dirty.

Benjen played dirty too, spitting in the mans face before hooking his sword guard with the other and thrusting up. As the enemies sword launched in the air, Benjen stabbed his opponent in the belly with a roar. He caught the other sword when it came back down and sliced the top of the other mans head clean off, exposing his brains to the world.

Benjen's shock only lasted so long before he had to engage in another warrior then another until there weren't many left. He well paid the Iron Price many times over and renamed his sword after he had finished vomiting. Now all he needed to do was change the guard and the pommel to something more appropriate. Something he would advise Larence to do since his guard was in the shape of a damn squid.

“If we could get away with it, I would suggest we use Longclaw for our name,” Dacey murmured sadly.

Her brother Jorah had disgraced their house and their family sword when he traded some of the smallfolk to slavers and almost got Callum's half sister Berena captured. When he and his wife attempted to run, it was Callum who caught them first as they tried to pull a stunt by taking a ship from White Harbor to get to Braavos instead of taking one from Bear Island and down south.

Callum nearly killed them both as he vowed to bring all slavers who poached on their land to justice. However, since both of them were high born, and both were Westerosi and in the North, its Warden had to distribute punishment. He still hamstrung Jorah who fought fiercely with the blade of his family.

Jorah had accepted his punishment with as much dignity as he could, and he revealed that he had been stealing from the coffers of Bear Island to pay for the lavish lifestyle of his wife. Since his father had stepped down, and since he was the Lord of the Island, he almost got away with it until the debt kept climbing higher.

His wife, who hailed from House Hightower, demanded that she be sent home as she was not born in the North and not entirely subject to its laws. Lord Rickard countered that since she knew of the crime, prospered from it, encouraged it, and felt no remorse about it, she had to die as well.

The only one who spoke in defense of the woman was Maester Walys, who said that she should be sent home. He hadn't been seen in awhile, not that Benjen missed the bastard one bit. What with him selling secrets to his masters in Old Town.

House Mormont, at the behest of its new lady, Maege, turned over their most prized possession to house Stark to help pay for half of the debt. They said they would pay the rest of it in time, declining the offer to have it forgiven on the grounds of ignorance.

“Ignorance is not bliss,” The She Bear said fiercely. “We will feel the sting of my nephews foolishness and we will live with it. In time, his shame, our shame, will be forgiven but not forgotten. Longclaw is yours my lord, we will never hold it again. Not even when everything has settled.”

 “And why can't you use it?” Larence challenged Dacey. “Who says that you cannot?”

“Larence-”

“No Dacey, speak truthfully, why can you not use the name? The sword will be given to a new owner one day, why let its name go to waste? Bears are not the only creatures that have claws, wolves do too. Its a perfect name for your new house.”

Benjen could see the indecision in his wife's eyes. She wanted to use the name, maybe even help bring honor back to it but she was being held by back. By what, he wasn't sure, but he said his piece.

“We'll speak to my father about it.” He told her, knowing that it was all that they could do. The clacking of wood hitting the ground caught his attention. A hooded figure holding a Weirwood staff that had a small branches wrapped around a bronze sphere walked beside three others.

The first was Ser Harlon Frost, formerly Stark. He was his deceased uncle Willam's second son, and he had fostered in the Vale like Ned. He lived with the Hunters, an old family of the First Men though he did visit other Vale houses during his fostering, such as the Arryn's and the neighbors of his foster family, the now extinct Corbray's.

They were now extinct due to Harlon. He had discovered while he was there that Ser Lyn Corbray, a troublesome knight that was gifted their family sword, Lady Forlorn, had been raping his page, a boy of nine. Harlon, incensed, drove his dagger into the man and made him confess in front of all his smallfolk as he bled and while his cock swung freely.

While the boy was being tended to, Harlon publicly executed the knight in the name of the Old Gods, since it was in their religion that those who commit such acts were to be killed immediately and without question. He even did it with the Valyrian blade that the fiend carried.

He gave Ser Lyn's armor to the family of the boy, The Hollow's, as payment. They were a small house that had felt lucky to have their son be potentially knighted by a man such as Ser Lyn. When they were told the truth, they were horrified.

Ser Lyn's brothers, Ser Lucas, and Lord Lyonel, attacked Harlon differently, one directly and madly, losing his head. The other, challenged him to an honor duel and lost a leg at the thigh and died due to blood loss.

In response, some of the more Andal blooded houses demanded Harlon's head. He argued in front of Lord Jon Arryn himself, that he was merely following what his religion taught him and the laws of men.

Ser Lyn was caught in the act, he made his confession and by the will of the Old Gods, was served justice. Harlon acted accordingly but he humbled himself before Lord Arryn as the Vale was his region and he would submit himself to his will. Lord Arryn called for him to face trial, one of combat since he was a noble born son.

Upon his victory and declared innocence in the eyes of the Seven who are one, he was banished from the Vale for life. Lord Arryn let him keep the Valyrian blade, much to the grumbling of those who shared blood with the Corbray's, and even knighted Harlon before he left.

He said it was because Harlon stood for justice and avenged an innocent child that was wronged. What was more knightly than that?

Jon Arryn even rewarded Heart's Home, the seat of house Corbray, to the Hollow's, making them a new noble house. Whispers stated that Lord Arryn was losing his mind but the man defended himself saying that honor demanded these people be repaid in some way and it cleared up the potential legal battles that would ensue over ownership of the castle.

It wouldn't heal the boy of his mental scars or change what happened, in any way, but it was a chance for them to heal in some fashion. It helped that they were extremely loyal people, to house Arryn and their new liege lords, the Hunters.

That was four years ago however. Lady Forlorn had been renamed to Three Ravens Folly, with the same heart shaped pommel still attached as a reminder of its origins. And if news from the south held some truth to it, Lord Jon Arryn no longer cared about upholding honor like he once did.

The person next to Harlon was his bastard half brother, Ser Locke Wynter. He was the product of a smith from Winter town and Lady Bella of house Bolton, Ser Willam's wife. Upon discovery of the affair, Ser Willam asked his brother to let him deal with them personally, a request that was granted. Willam kept them both locked away as lady Bella grew with child. When Locke was born, he was taken away from his mother and given the name of the Locke family who had blood ties to each house.

“He will be mine to name and mine to raise. Be grateful that I am letting him live at all.” Were the last words he ever said to his wife before he had her hanged alongside the smith. Though Locke was not his son in any legal capacity, Ser Willam still took care of him, if only in memory of the good times he and his wife shared.

And the Last person to join them was Sandor Clegane, a boy of thirteen who was here at the behest of Harlon's wife, Tyta of house Frey, who was his cousin. The boy's father, Argyle, had pleaded with her to take both him, and his daughter Rissa, into their home for safety. Apparently, the oldest boy, Gregor, had burned his brothers face and broke his sisters arm when they were younger and his behavior had become more unsavory as time went on.

Considering the sudden death of Lord Argyle, and the rumored actions of what happened in Kings Landing, it wasn't that surprising.

“Peace,” Harlon spoke with a raised hand when they all made to rise. “You need not rise for me.” As he and the men sat down he turned to the hooded figure. “Introduce yourself my friend.”

The figure drew back his hood, revealing dark shaggy hair and unnatural green eyes that glowed at times.

“My name is Ser Devyn Reed. I believe you know my brother Howland lord Benjen?”

“Aye, he's a good man your brother.” Benjen was slightly unnerved by the look in the mans eye but he didn't let it show.

“Show them,” Harlon commanded and Devyn tapped his staff to the ground twice. The torches in the hall had their fires turn blue in response and there was a grey haze that affected his vision.

“Do not be alarmed,” Devyn murmured. “I do this to make sure that no one but us can see what I show you.”

“And what do you have to show us?” Benjen said as calmly as he could.

“The battles to come. You would do well to heed my warning.”

* * *

 

**Lord Tywin Lannister, the Red Keep**

Tywin gritted his teeth and fought down his temper.

“Your grace, you released my son -”

“Aye I did, and how did he repay that?” Robert snapped at him. “He's gone. Fled into parts unknown like some common thief.”

“We don't know what happened-” Tywin tried again but was interrupted once more.

“I have made up my mind Lord Tywin, if your precious son the Kingslayer is not here by the weeks end, he loses all rights to the Rock. I will not have some ingrate rewarded with a future title like Warden or Lord Paramount. Be grateful that I am to marry your daughter and that you have another son, now get out of my sight.”

Tywin left in a quiet rage, looking for the new Hand, Lord Arryn. His eastern counterpart took one look at his expression and sighed.

“I am sorry that you were unable to convince his grace to change his mind.”

He may as well have said 'I told you so' which he did twice before. Tywin had been told that Baratheon was stubborn and stupid when it came to politics but he hoped to persuade him. Now he was stuck with a monster for an heir and had no legal right to deny him the Rock. He wouldn't kill the beast either. He was a Lannister above all else and the last piece of his wife even if that piece was only half.

“Yes it is regrettable but his grace is wise and I know that my son will do his duty to his family,” The words tasted bitter in his mouth. Damn Jaime for being a fool and damn Baratheon for this situation.

Lord Arryn smiled with is eyes even if the words that followed were solemn, “I am sure he will.”

Both knew it was a lie bout neither said it out loud.

“And how is the peace accords coming along?” Tywin eyed the stack of parchment on the table.

“They are coming along well, thank you for asking.” Jon Arryn almost sounded bored and dismissive. “Copies will be sent to all those who are allied with us.”

“Including House Stark?”

Jon Arryn pursed his lips, “Yes, including them.”

“I was under the impression that they were no longer allied with the Iron Throne. Something about kneeling to dragons?” Tywin almost smiled as the other man grimaced.

“It wouldn't hurt to try and mend some bridges.”

“Of course it wouldn't, but I would recommend speaking with the heir overall. He is your foster son is he not, and brother to his grace? He would be more amenable to negotiate I would think.”

“Until Lord Rickard dies, I will not be speaking to his son about this unless both of them are present.”

That wouldn't do, Tywin thought. A good chunk of the Thrones money came from the North. Then again, Tywin could provide the money as their mines were still active. Yes, that was a thought.

“Do you plan to make peace with Dorne?”

Tywin almost sneered at the thought of making peace with those snakes but composed himself, “Why would I need to do such a thing?”

“Don't play games, lord Tywin. We both know that you have the chance to make things right and gain a kingdom back.”

“I owe them nothing. What happened to their precious Elia was necessary. And I would remind you, Lord Hand, that you and your foster son prosper the most from her death and that of their children.” He pressed his hands onto the desk and leaned over to glare at the older man. “It is why I am still here after all.” I am not going away old man, and neither is my loyal dog, He thought.

Jon Arryn for his part did not cower away, something that earned him respect from the lion of Lannister, “If there is away for us to avoid unnecessary bloodshed and make peace, we should strive to gain it.”

“I owe them nothing,” Tywin repeated, stepping away from the desk and towards the door. “Good day to you Lord Arryn.” He walked out the door and closed it quietly instead of slamming it like a petulant child. He had felt the Arryn seal in his hand when he was on the desk and almost swiped it.

He had come up with a plan to forge a letter in Lord Arryn's hand to tell lord Hoster Tully to hold the Starks there at Riverrun when they passed by. There were several problems with the plan however. He didn't know anyone who was good at forging letters, he didn't have a letter from Jon Arryn to give them and Lord Hoster may have thought it strange to do such a thing since the Starks technically did nothing wrong.

They and the North as a whole would have to be dealt with for his grandchildren to know peace. And unlike the other fools that called themselves lord, Tywin was more than happy to do the deed. Or find someone just as good for the job.


	8. Wolves Don't Answer to Fish

**Ser Brandon Stark, Riverrun**

The walls of Riverrun were more imposing than he remembered the last time he was here. He fought the urge to flinch as the memories hit him all at once. Him getting word that his sister was taken, him riding to Kings Landing, the torture that ensued when he challenged the mad dragon.

The noose that had been tied around his neck only tightened every so often when he was raised off the ground. His wrist still hurt from when he tried to shimmy to freedom. That was mostly done out of panic since they were iron chains and not rope. Rope he could burn with no problem, the iron would be hard to do so since he never tried melting any form of metal. Perhaps it was time to learn.

“Open the gates!” The cry came from one of the guards and the drawbridge was lowered. As he rode with his family, he fought back the snarl that built in his throat when he saw the man who tricked him: Petyr Baelish, standing by the Tully's smirking all the while. Beside him, Ned did growl but stopped when father looked their way.

“Be quiet,” He growled at them. “Now is not the time.”

Now is not the time, Brandon agreed. But before they left, Baelish would be dead. He would see to it personally. They dismounted and Brandon made sure to keep his head at an angle so his wolf cowl wouldn't fall back. The small mask that covered the top half of his face wouldn't be enough coverage and they all agreed that he needed to remain a secret.

His being alive would not be ideal until they could make sure the North was stable first. So he took a new name that would be good while he served out his penance for his stupidity.

“This is Ser Dustin Sand, my Wolf Knight and the First Sword of the Snowfall. He recently came into my service.”

Lord Hoster looked him up and down before dismissing him without a word. Typical behavior for one as proud as he. Lord Hoster never liked bastards, hated the fact that Brandon had one and only put up with his daughters bastard son Robin because they shared blood though that was just a lie.

Lady Catelyn did the same while she held her child but she still nodded respectfully due to his title no doubt. Ser Brynden saw right through the facade if the look in his eye was any indication. Brandon would speak with him later. Edmure remained oblivious but he did look at Brandon in wonder and awe, reminding him of Benjen when he was the same age. He glanced at Baelish whose eyes were alight with fire much like the sigil of his house but his smirk was now more sinister. Oh yes, this cunt would be dying before they left tonight.

“I wasn't aware that a Dornish bastard could be given such a title. One that hasn't been used since the Starks were kings.” Leave it to the Lord Paramount of the Trident to sound both interested and accusing at the same time.

“Whom I give the title to is my business but since you must know old friend, Ser Dustin helped us locate my daughter and helped us fight those that held her hostage.” The first half was true, he had convinced Lady Ashara to send word to some of the spies within Starfall and too his father before she gave birth and died of exhaustion. The latter half...well he wasn't in the right frame of mind or body when he was spirited away to the home of his brothers lady love.

If he ever saw Ser Jaime again, he would thank him properly for helping to sneak him out. Last time he was unable to because he was so damn tired.

“Ser Dustin has more than earned the title.” Father continued to speak. “Now are we to feast as allies or am I to take your daughter with us now and be done with it?”

Bread and salt was passed around after a moment and they made their way into the great hall. Ned and his wife spoke quietly as Baelish slithered his way over and held out his hand to him.

“Petyr Baelish, Lord of the Fingers.” He introduced himself. Brandon grasped the hand firmly enough to return the greeting though he wanted to break the hand altogether.

“Dustin,” He rasped. The name was done to honor the friend that he got killed when he rode to the Capitol, Lord William Dustin. Brandon didn't know what happened to his body but he assumed that it was burned like the others who displeased Aerys Targaryen.

“What part of Dorne do you hail from,” Baelish pretended to sound curious.

“Northern Dorne, near High Hermitage.”

“Your father is a Dayne then?”

“I don't know who my father is, but my mother lived in the village nearby.” They continued to make small talk and Brandon's anger grew and grew in the mere presence of this man. He had to stop himself from reacting violently when Baelish posed a question to his father while they ate supper.

“I understand that you have been made a grandfather for the fourth time with the birth of young Robb,” Baelish smirked when it became silent and took a sip of his wine. Father, for his part, merely stared at Baelish like the piece of shit that he was.

“I'm sorry, who are you again? Littlefucker was it?” Father asked calmly and Brandon allowed a small smile cross his face when Baelish choked slightly on his wine. He probably didn't expect such a response from a high lord.

Catelyn looked slightly appalled at what just happened. Hoster Tully glared at his former ward. Ser Brynden just rolled his eyes and continued to eat his venison.

“This is Petyr Baelish lord Stark,” Edmure Tully snickered slightly. “He hails from the Fingers, and his keep, The Titan's Hold, is on the smallest of them. Littlefinger is what most people call him.”

“My mistake then,” His father shrugged and went back to eating.

“My spy master brings up a good point even if it was not his place to speak of it,” Hoster Tully still glared at Baelish as he spoke. “He informs me that you now have two bastard children?” He shifted his glare to Ned who put down his cutlery and eyed his father by law with a calm expression.

“I do,” Ned replied and Catelyn looked dismayed, much like she did when Brandon told her of his son. “They were conceived before I married your daughter.” Ned added in attempt to sooth the situation.

It did him no good here. This lord in particular did not abide by such things as bastards unless they were blood related to him and he only did so with reluctance. If the Night's Watch still existed, young Robin Rivers would be sent there when he was old enough to speak. Now he was destined to be a serving boy or some such.

That life was better than a lot would get, but knowing Hoster Tully, he would make the boys life miserable.

“So they are the get of that Dornish woman, then?” Hoster Tully tried very hard not to sneer at his good son.

“They are Lady Ashara's children, yes.” For someone who could tell when others were lying and hated lying himself, Ned was actually rather good at it. Then again, we all have a great reason to do so. Brandon thought and it was only half a lie.

“And they are with their mother?” Lord Hoster seemed to know the answer already but he wanted it out in the open. He wanted his daughter to know specifically.

“They were sent ahead of us to Winterfell, they will be raised there until they are old enough to go their own way.” It was the only potion that made sense to them. Ser Barristan didn't need to go back to the capital as he was released from his vows and he swore to protect the last child of Rhaegar Targaryen to the best of his ability. Brandon knew that he would protect Jonothor as well since it was no secret that the man loved Ashara Dayne. He would never admit it out loud but Brandon could see the look of grief every time the Knight's eye wandered towards Ashara's son.

Brandon would watch him. He was sure that the man wouldn't hurt a child, the father of that child? That was a different story, one that would have dire consequences should Barristan decide to try anything.

“The Daynes were well off last I heard, why can't they take care of the bastards?”

Father, having grown tired of the direction in which this was going, slammed his hand onto the table so hard that a lot of the items on it shook, “Watch your tone Hoster. This is my son and heir and he is not on trial.”

The guards shifted at his tone but a hand from Ser Brynden stopped them from doing more. Baelish looked mildly pleased with the chaos that had been started by him. Edmure Tully and his sister stared at the Northern Lord with wide eyes, both having jumped at the sudden noise before Catelyn tried to calm her now crying son.

“This is my home -” Hoster began angrily but Rickard spoke over him.

“I am well aware of where we are, but we both know that your fucking spy has already told you these things. I can see it his rat eyes! The only reason you speak of these things is simple. You seek to embarrass and harass my son and I will not have it!”

“Both your sons have embarrassed my daughter and shamed her!” Hoster snapped back, rising from his seat. “They have shamed my house!”

“And what do you plan to do about it, hmm? Are you going to demand that you come to Winterfell and piss on my elder sons place in crypts?” His father still sat in his seat and glaring at the man he called friend. “What do you want Hoster? Tell me so we can all take our leave and be done with it.”

“I want those bastards out of Winterfell for starters, keep them North if you wish but I will not have them raised alongside my grandson.” Hoster hissed. “Everyone knows that bastards are not to be trusted.”

“Then why do you have your bastard grandson here?” Rickard raised an eyebrow. “Why would you want him in your stronghold?”

“That's different.”

“How? His birth and the refusal to share the father's identity saw you lose the chance to have a grandson of yours be Warden of the East.”

That was the agreement made in response to Lysa Tully's lack of innocence. Ser Elbert Arryn was confirmed as the next Warden and Lord Paramount regardless of whatever children Jon Arryn had with Lysa.

Because she refused to name the babes father and because she refused to get rid of the babe to begin with, Hoster Tully took him in as punishment for her. He said he did it because the boy was family and now he was arguing to keep Stark blooded children away from theirs.

It made Brandon angry that this man would demand such a thing, the fucking hypocrite.

“It is different,” Hoster repeated with gritted teeth.

“Again, how?” His father stood. Brandon and Ned both joined him. “You Southerners like to hold someones bastardy over them and we Northerners let them prove their worth. Have you heard of Northern lead rebellions with Bastards at the lead? If there were any, I don't know of them but I know of all the True Born fuckers that tried to destroy my house and subjugate my people. A lot of them came from places like this.

“You want me to put my flesh and blood out of their home but you wish to keep yours here? If you are going to demand anything of anyone Hoster, at least lead by example. As for your request, denied. I will not abandon my family when I have already lost enough of them.”

“Then my daughter stays here with her son. Lets see how your lords react to that.”

“By all means, keep your daughter here,” Rickard shrugged. “Shes a lovely girl, I'm sure that you can sell her womb to next highest bidder. Its what your house does best after all. But when we leave this place, I will ride North and gather any volunteers I can get to come here and lay siege to this castle. I meant what I said when I won't abandon my family and that boy is my grandson.

“You want to know how my lords will react? They'll be furious but not at me. When they find out that you threatened to hold him hostage, they'll be chomping at the bit to get him to where he belongs. Even the rivals of my house would frown at what you have done and offer any aid that they could. The Bolton's especially.”

The Tully's looked horrified by what he was saying, Catelyn and Hoster especially. Brandon's heart had been hardened by his experience but he still cringed internally at his fathers words. The Bolton's loyalty was questionable at best but they had no love for the South and disrespect to the Northern heir was not to be tolerated. Of course, they would find some way to play it to their advantage but they would help all the same.

“Riverrun can withstand any siege,” Lord Hoster's words were hollow at best given the look on his face. Not even Baelish looked smug any more.

“Not if we poison the river that flows directly underneath it and provides you with food and fresh water,” Rickard countered. “It won't hold against those who have sworn loyalty to me and mine. We still remember the lay outs of all the castles that we helped protect when Harren the Black enslaved the Smallfolk to build that monstrosity of his, this one included.

“And don't think it wouldn't be easy to get here quickly either. Lord Frey, as ghastly as he is, has an agreement with my nephews since they married two of his daughters. He may not like it but he likes you even less. The new king won't help you either, he has to hold the capitol and marry whatever bride he was to marry. If Tywin Lannister has his way, it'll be his daughter.

“I'm sure you'll find a great ally in the Lion of the West. Maybe you could have young Edmure here marry a Lannister from one of the lesser branches with the caveat of having more trade with the Westerlands. And besides, it was his Bannerman who helped solidify the ascension of Robert, something you and Jon Arryn didn't bother to discuss with me. Under this new Regime you could prosper quite a bit, much like you did when the Targaryen's raised you from petty lords to Lords Paramount.”

His father was daring Lord Hoster to do or say something stupid. The words were said pleasantly enough, but the underlying threat was too great to ignore. His father had no powers but his gift lie in the fact that he could make anyone feel uplifted with his praise and deeply ashamed with his criticism. Lord Rickard toed the line between South and North. He was cunning when he needed to be and blunt and vicious enough to satisfy the Northern lords.

In short, Rickard Stark was a powerful man and the world would have never seen the likes of him again if he had answered the summons he received from the Mad King and perished in that city.

“You have one hour to get out of my home,” Hoster Tully said quietly, furiously. “Take my daughter and her son. Take the bastard grandchild of mine since you seem to love them so much. Mark my words, old friend, should anything happen to my daughter and her family because of you, I will launch an attack on your country with the rest of my allies.”

Rickard leaned over the table as far as he could, “And I expect you to be on the front lines, fighting with all you have, should it come to that. I will do the same. Goodbye old friend, and good luck to you in all your future endeavors” He left the table without another word and he was followed by his sons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of bridges being burned huh? Don't worry nothing bad will happen because of this. I mean, look at Dorne in canon, they weren't touched until the War of the Five Kings was pretty much finished. The North will be alright.


	9. Vows

**Lord Petyr Baelish, inside Riverrun**

  
Petyr had made a slight miscalculation at dinner. He had expected lord Rickard to be a brute like his son, and instead he got something else. Petyr could deal with any Southern lord and the Northman never played the games they did and failed when they tried. He assumed that their leader would be just as stupid.

How wrong he was.

As he contemplated a way to strike back and make sure Cat didn’t journey North, a hand wrapped itself against his throat and he felt his head almost break as he was slammed against a nearby wall.

“If that mockingbird won’t sing,” Brandon Stark gave a raspy growl. “You had a lot of fucking nerve there Baelish but look at you now.”

Petyr struggled with all his might but he started to feel lightheaded. His vision was blurry but he could just make out the large shape in front of him. He almost screamed when his throat began to burn from where the hand was. He could smell the flesh burn and it overwhelmed him.

“I can’t believe I was so stupid as to listen to you. What I endured in Kings Landing will stay with me for the rest of my life. But yours is at an end.”

Petyr had reached for the short sword that belonged to his father and drew it. He swung blindly, hoping to relieve the fire on his throat. Somehow he missed and the blade was taken from him.

“You won’t be needing that.”

Petyr could feel the Valyrian blade enter his chest and he could feel blood enter his lungs. He struggled to breathe even more and his body started to go slack.

Not like this, He thought desperately before darkness consumed him for the last time.

* * *

 

**Ser Brynden Tully, the main court yard of Riverrun**

Brynden Tully stood in the shadows and watched as the man he knew to be Brandon Stark drag a body towards the fishing gate.

“Out for an evening stroll, Lord Stark?” Brynden snorted when Brandon Stark stopped what he was doing and went for his sword. “You should learn to mind your surroundings lad, I could have been anyone.”

“Ser Brynden, I don’t –“

“Spare me, I know who you are and I know that you know of my knowing,” Brynden rolled his eyes at what he just said. “Despite all that knowledge, I am here to help you if you need it. I already have if you take a look around.”

Brandon did so and relaxed slightly, “I thought it was in between a new shift.”

“It is, but I told the boys to take a moment for themselves and I would take watch.” He gestured to the body. “Baelish?” Brandon nodded slightly. “Good,” Ser Brynden moved to open the gate.

“Why are you helping me, this is your brothers man.” Brandon grabbed the body's upper half and Brynden grabbed the other with a snort.

“He was his own man.” And I'm sure that he was the one who dishonored my niece. Brynden thought with a scowl. Both of his nieces and the boy were close at one point, it wouldn't surprise him if both Lysa and Petyr had shared a bed.

They both lowered the body in slowly and the strong current took it away. “He'll probably be near Pinkmaiden by the morning before the current slows down.” Brynden turned back to the younger man and eyed the other blade on his belt. Brandon wordlessly drew it and held it out for him to take.

“Valyrian steel,” Brynden murmured as he held the blade by the titan shaped pommel. “I wonder where the little shit got this from.”

“It was his fathers,” Brandon rasped, closing the fishing gate. “And his fathers before that. Its called the Titan's Blade. He mentioned it when he tried to kill me the first time.”

“First time?”

“I left Riverrun because he told me that my sister was kidnapped. I rode with the fury of the wolf and with the brains of a half wit. I made the mistake of taunting the dragon but it was he who helped point me in that direction.”

“So this is revenge then?” Brynden didn't blame the lad to be honest. What happened to Brandon was a disgrace.

“I won't lie and say that I didn't enjoy killing him, but its much more than that.”

And you know it are the words left unsaid. Brynden nodded and handed the blade back to the younger man. The Blackfish could see the gleam in Petyr's eyes during dinner and he knew that the boy loved Cat the most of the Tully girls. He was a shit fighter, as evidenced by the scar that ran from his navel to collarbone, but he was smart. He may have been planning something and who knows what would happen if he was given the chance to enact those plans.

“You plan on giving that to your boy,” Brynden nodded at the sword. “What was his name again?”

“Markus, he's named after his mother's cousin, Mark Ryswell.” Brandon frowned slightly and looked away. “And I have no idea as to what I'll do with this sword but Markus will not have it. His mother has other plans for him.”

“Good ones I hope.” Brynden asked sharply.

“Are you going to lay into me like your brother attempted to do to my brother?” Brandon's eyes are cold, even as he spoke softly. “You need not worry in any case, Markus is just a boy.”

“And boys become men when they grow up, what kind of a man will your boy grow to be?”

“Don't -”

“I've fought alongside nobles and smallfolk and bastards alike. We all bleed red boy.” His gruff words stopped Brandon from speaking. “I've had friends in all three groups. Good people, all of them, but you do know what we fought together in don't you?”

“The War of the Nine Penny Kings.”

“Also known as the War of the Nine Petty Bastards. All nine Pirate Kings form the Stepstones claimed to have blood ties to the Great Houses of Westeros and they wanted a piece of these lands. No one really bothered to look into their claims outside of a few but in the end it didn't matter to those who dislike bastard children.

“My brother is an arse, that much is true. Your father is right that there were no wars fought in the name of a bastard child up north. But the First Men were men all the same. They had the same desire that the Andals did when it came to what was right. I know that it will be difficult for my niece to be accepted, her son even more so. Why wouldn't the Northern Lords just follow your son instead of hers?”

“Because he's not true born!” Brandon snapped with a pained look. “He could have been. I would have married his mother to make it right and renounced whatever claim I had to Winterfell so that Ned or Benjen could marry your niece.”

“Then why didn't you?”

“Because as long as I was alive, Hoster Tully wouldn't have accepted anything less than a first born son. And Ned loved another.” Brandon looked away. “I don't even love my sons mother but I would have done right by her. Our son wouldn't want for anything and I would have found him a good match. Some lords are only gifted with daughters instead of sons after all.”

His face became hard like stone, “I love that boy, always will. I will father no other children, this I swore to my father on Ice and my ancestors. I will take no wife and hold no lands. I have sworn to protect all the children in my family including that of my brothers. Should anyone harm them or try to, they will taste the edge of my blade.”

“And if they should seek to place your son in your nephews place?”

“Then they die too but my son will not be killed or cast aside. It is not the way of our family or people.”

“I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort,” Brynden rolled his eyes. “The thought of killing or abandoning a child sickens me but you and your father haven't thought about this enough.”

He saw that some of the guards started to return so he just waved a hand, “We'll speak of this later, maybe while we're on the road together.”

“You intend to travel with us?”

“Of course, I'll not suffer my brothers foolishness for another day. Hopefully Edmure can survive without me.” Considering how soft the boy was and how simple he could be, Brynden doubted it but he needed a change of scenery. Plus it would be good to watch over Cat and her son. It would stop him from wanting to strangle his brother at least.

* * *

 

**Lady Rhaella Targaryen, on the Dragons Tooth, Narrow Sea**

Rhaella looked down at her daughter with a smile. It was touch and go there for a moment but she was glad that she would be able to hold her daughter. Her son was curled at her side, having finally been able to see her even though he demanded to see her hours ago.

She grimaced as she looked down at her only remaining son. He was acting out of character and the stress of the situation had clearly gotten to him. She was also glad that she would be able to keep an eye on him. She almost shuddered at the thought of how her death would affect him.

“Ser Willem,” She called the knight standing at her door. “Make sure no one disturbs us.”

“Yes my queen,” The Knight bowed and left, not noticing the frown on Rhaella's face. She was queen no longer, her house was in ruins and the throne of her family now had a pretender on it.

Yet she couldn't help but be glad for the reprieve. After all the years of dealing with her husband. After all her dealings with some of the idiots in power, she was glad.

But the price that came with it was too steep. Her son was gone, his wife and children gone. And for what? Two people not abiding by their duty? Rhaella was no fool, the little Northern girl was a fighter, she wouldn't have let herself be taken and her son would never resort to kidnapping anyone.

She sighed, it was over now and she needed to prepare for the future. The first order of business would be to connect with her Blackfyre cousins in Tyrosh and then go from there. She also needed to find out if she had another grandchild and have them brought to her. Bastard or not, the child would have the blood of the Dragon, and it would be a terrible thing for them to be alone in the world.


	10. Planning Ahead

**Ser Mark Ryswell, The Black Marya**

Mark frowned when he cast his eye upon the Kingslayer, not that Mark would call him that. Not to his face at least, and the Mad King had well earned his fate. Mark considered the title to be useless in this case.

The boy clung to an injured black cat that he had brought with him. The little beast yowled in the presence of others and only Jaime could keep it calm. He walked towards his fellow knight, and the damned cat growled at him.

“Balerion, hush.” Jaime chastised the cat.

“You named him after the Black Dread?” Mark raised an eyebrow. What an odd choice.

“He's not mine,” Jaime said flatly. “He belongs – belonged, to princess Rhaenys.” The cat mewled sadly, the first sound it had made that wasn't threatening.

Mark studied the cat, “Those injuries,” He nodded to the cuts and the ruined ear.

“He tried to save his mistress, for all the good it did him,” Jaime looked away as his eyes began to water.

“Loyal,” Mark murmured and reached into his pocket. “The Maester says that this salve should help with any infection. You're the only one here that he even likes so...” He held out a small container which Jaime accepted.

“Thank you,” Jaime muttered while Mark noticed that the cat cuddled into the Lion Knight. “How long before we reach land?”

“Littlesister should come into view at any moment. We'll spend sometime there with House Wade of the Second Shallows.” House Wade was not of the original branch, which had resided in Dorne before the Andals and Rhoynar came, but they were descended from the house and had been staunch Stark loyalists for a long time. Mark expected no trouble from them, if they had guests however, that might be a different story. “Why do you ask?”

Jaime shrugged and smirked, “The sea is not a place for a Lion. And I need to speak with your liege and ask for sanctuary.” He admitted quietly.

“I find myself confused, Ser Jaime, why did you run to begin with?”

“I'd rather explain it to lord Rickard and his heir,” Ser Jaime's voice is sharp and full of warning. Then he smirked to try and ease the sudden tension. “If I tell you my reasons now, then I may have to tell others who ask. I don't like to repeat myself and really, its your lords judgment that I will face, not yours or anyone else.”

He turned away and Mark shrugged. What Jaime said was true, “I'll leave you and your companion too it then.” He turned to walk away.

“She tried to give him wings.”

“What?” Mark turned back with a frown.

“Rhaenys tried to give this little demon some wings. Gods know how much leather and string she hacked up in her attempts.” Jaime said fondly before he grimaced. “She never got a chance to finish them.”

“Maybe you can finish them for her,” Mark offered with a slight grin and Jaime scoffed playfully.

“Do I look like a damn seamstress to you?”

They both shared a small laugh and then went their separate ways.

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark, the Riverlands**

Catelyn wasn't sure if her uncle being here was a blessing or a curse. To be sure, she did love her uncle and she knew that he loved her but he was too...different from the rest of the family.

“A copper for your thoughts, Cat?” Her uncle asked after he took a drink of water. She startled for a moment before she responded.

“Uncle, why did you not marry when my father asked you too?” She hadn't meant to say that but it was out there and hopefully her uncle wouldn't be too upset.

Brynden sighed, “He didn't ask me Cat, he expected it, demanded it even. If I was his child I would have no choice,” He gave her an apologetic look.

“And the old laws state that the younger sibling answers to the elder but I fought in a damn war and I wasn't in the mood to deal with your father. We fought each other, insulted each other, and in the end, I went away. Until this War.”

Catelyn frowned, “Where did you go uncle?” That was always a mystery to her since she never received any news about him while he was away.

“Traveled for a bit, killed a few bandits here and there. I mainly took shelter with a friend named Raymond and his family near the Gods Eye though he was from the Vale. Ray of the Mountains is what he was called sometimes but he was also known as Ray the Septon.”

“Why?”

“Well he kept going on about how he would join the Faith after the last war. But he was too broken to truly lead any sermons about peace, especially since he stopped believing in the religion altogether.”

Catelyn frowned more harshly this time. Her uncle paused to take another sip of his water before he continued.

“I wouldn't frown so much Cat, you'll have wrinkles before you've seen thirty years.”

“Why would he turn his back on something that he clearly wanted to be a part of?”

“He said that the war proved to him that the gods don't actually care about us. If they did, so many of those who couldn't fight back wouldn't be slaughtered like pigs.”

“That's not the will of the gods,” Catelyn protested. “That is the folly of man!”

“And we are made in their image, are we not? We give them our thoughts and our prayers. Yet we hear nothing.” He grimaced. “I don't entirely agree with what Ray said but he's not wrong. In times of war, it feels like the gods abandon us and sometimes I almost feel ashamed that I was knighted in the Light of the Seven.”

“But-” Catelyn stopped. She couldn't think of a rebuttal to one's own personal beliefs especially since that person wasn't here. Instead she turned to the sound of children playing games across the river.

“You could be forgiven if you thought that a war hadn't just taken place after seeing that.” She nodded softly in the direction of the children. Her uncle made a small noise of agreement.

“During the wars I had been in, it used to help thinking about how in the rest of the world absolutely nothing was happening and that one day, no matter how short that nothingness lasted, Westeros would embrace it.”

They settled into a small silence that was broken by a rider for house Stark.

“My lady, Lord Stark says it is time to continue with our journey.” The rider said curtly, eying her with slight apprehension. He doesn't trust me, she thought. Everyone of the Stark men had heard what her father said about their lords grandchildren and they expected her to do something in the same vein.

“I will be along shortly,” She replied and received another curt nod before the rider turned around and rode back to where he came from.

“There is a whole country full of people like that you know,” Her uncle gave her a look. “They don't care for the south, less so because of what has happened. I'm sure enough of them already know about what your father said to Lord Stark by now. Are you prepared to earn their trust?”

“I am,” She wasn't foolish, she knew that it would be a hard road for her to be accepted even with a bit of the First Men blood that ran through her veins. “I know my duty.”

“Its more than just duty Cat,” Brynden sighed. “Their lifestyle and culture is vastly different to ours. They love the things that we are supposed to despise, namely bastards.”

Catelyn clenched her jaw and turned away from her uncle.

“Cat,” Brynden warned.

“I won't mistreat any bastard that I see, but I won't mother them either,” She spat at him. “The sacred text -”

“Are nothing more than words. They, like any vow, can be disregarded. You firmly believe in the Seven and the teachings you were given as a child. But you have to remember that there is a time and place for something like that. And there are very few places like that passed the Neck.”

“I -” She struggled to think of a response. Part of her would never let got of what she was taught but now she was no longer just a Tully, now she was a Stark. She was apart of the ruling house of the North. A house that could have fought against the Targaryen's but put aside that notion to stop the looming threat beyond the now defunct Wall.

It was the Starks that came to the aid of the Riverlands when the Ironborn started to conquer the country. They had taken the Iron Islands when the bulk of its forces were on land and had added it to their generous holdings. It was they that Harren the Black truly feared and what made him sit in that lasting symbol of slavery he called a castle until his death.

The Starks had endured the Red Kings, the Horse Kings, and the Southern Kings that tried to claim their lands, and they also knew when to put pride aside to save their kingdom and keep their traditions. Catelyn had no delusions that she would be able to change the minds of anyone in her new family or their countrymen. Not that she would try anyway.

“I will not mistreat them,” She repeated and her uncle started at her with an expression that bordered on pity. “But I cannot be a mother to them, it is improper.”

“If that is all you are willing to give, I don't think anyone could begrudge you for that. Come, lets not keep lord Rickard waiting."

* * *

 

**Lord Harlon Frost, Moat Cailin**

Harlon studied the blue grey blade in his hand before he went back to sharpening it. It was a pointless task, since Cold Steel was just as sharp as Sky Metal or Dragon Steel and didn't need to be sharpened. But he needed to take his mind off of the things he learned, even his wife’s announcement that she was with child.

He already knew that she would birth him a healthy son, thanks to the power that his friend possessed. He frowned at the dagger as he waved it around. Somehow the mother of his little cousin had found a way to forge two metals that shouldn't be fused to one another and she was planning on giving it to him.

It was a dangerous weapon before she did what she did, but now it was an unknown quantity. He knew why she did what she did and he knew what must be done about it. The road before them would be bloody, and he would be short one brother if things went the way that he hoped. He sighed and set down his blade so he could go see his wife and think about the some names for their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I checked to see when Brynden and Hoster parted ways, and technically it was twice. His appointment to the Bloody Gate was the last straw and Hoster disowned him.
> 
> Additionally, the person that Brynden is talking about is Brother Ray from the TV show who was played by Ian McShane. In this he never became a Septon though.
> 
> You'll get an explanation about Cold Steel later on and the next chapter will feature a time skip.


	11. Battles in the North I

**Lady Barbrey Dustin, Barrow Hall, The last month of 283 AC**

Barbrey looked over the suit of armor that she had made for her son. It was large and hopefully she was correct in thinking that he would be as big as his father. White wolves were painted and etched into, signifying his birthright to Winterfell.

She scowled when she thought of the little rat that now passed for a Stark heir.

He looks too much like a damn fish, She snarked in her mind. If it wasn't for the slight grey in his blue eyes, she would have accused the Southron whore of fucking a member of her family. Of course, this particular whore had a backbone, one that Barbrey would enjoy breaking when the time came.

She ran her hand along the pommel of the sword that she had reforged for her son. Originally it had belonged to house Hightower, but it was taken by Roddy the Ruin and kept with house Dustin. Why they never openly claimed it was not known but when she married into the house, she had it sent to the Mountains.

The goat fuckers up there did a good job in reforging it, She thought, touching the horseshoe pommel that wrapped around a circle that had a horse head etched into it. The horse was to honor her house and the house that would help her place her son in charge of Winterfell. The Stark name wouldn't survive after this, but the Stark blood would live on, and that would be enough hold the North.

The blade of the sword was no longer black like before, now it held a slight orange hue and the ripples in the blade made it look like fire from a crude drawing. She thought that was odd, since the northern ore often produced blue grey blades but she thought it was fitting none the less given the colors of her house.

She sighed and went to the window to over look her men that were training diligently, even now when the sun had gone down. The new year would be upon them soon, and a new war would erupt in the North. If Brandon was still alive, maybe all of this could have been avoided -

BOOM!

A large explosion rocked her back and she looked to see one of the towers, the Barrow Tower, was set a flame. Before she could give a command to her men, the window she was standing in front of exploded as well.

* * *

 

**Lord Benjen Longclaw, outside of Barrow Hall, Same Time**

“Do you know how much this is going to cost to fix,” Callum asked him, taking a swipe at a Dustin guard and lopping his head off. “Larence isn't going to be happy -”

A mad cackle cut him off and they both turned to see their friend gleefully cutting down several Dustin guards in the span of a few moments. Righteous in Wrath indeed, Benjen thought with a shake of his head.

“I don't think he cares right now,” Benjen dryly replied, spinning on his heel to dodge a blow and shooting his hand out towards his attacker. Spikes of ice formed around his hand and he nailed his attacker in the face. The guard's face exploded into gore from the force before he fell to the ground dead.

“Ser Crow, I leave these men with you, you know my fathers will. Kill those who won't surrender, bind those who will,” He told Callum, mindful to not say the word shackle around his friend, knowing his friends hatred of the item in question.

“Aye Lord Longclaw, it will be done. Now go get the bitch that helped start all of this.”

“With pleasure,” Benjen growled cutting a man in half with his sword before he took off in a run towards Barrow Hall and went inside when he reached it.

* * *

 

Benjen had to give the guards credit, they were loyal to their mistress. But they were stupid. They had the higher ground on the steps going up the keep, but they lunged or jumped at him instead of forming a wall of spears at the top of the stairs to try and stall his movements.

Not that it would have helped, He thought, freezing a man in mid air and moving out of the way as his frozen body continued on its journey. He heard it shatter behind him but he paid it no mind as he had reached the top of the stairs. He froze two more guards and pushed them over, again paying no mind to the sound of shattered ice.

The door to the main chambers was off its hinges. Benjen pulled it out of the way and let himself in. He cursed at what he saw, the damn projectiles they used had hit this room dead on. Most of it was destroyed, including what looked like a suit of armor. Orange steel glinted at him in the light of the small fire that had started.

He turned when he heard a noise. Barbrey was under a pile of rubble, wheezing for breath.

“So this is how it ends is it?” Barbrey coughed and spat out some blood. She made a truly pitiful sight as she lay on the ground. “I birth a Stark child and this is what I get?!” She snarled at him.

“You birthed a bastard, Barbrey.” Benjen corrected her solemnly, gripping his sword. This would come back to haunt him, especially when he looked at his nephew.

“Who looks more like a Stark than any spawn of that Tully bitch!” Barbrey snarled out again before coughing again. “Do you plan on killing him as well?” She demanded.

“He is kin, regardless of his bastardy. No harm will come to him.” Part of him was angry that she would think such a thing of him, but he did just lead an assault on her and her men.The others would take care of her allies.

He raised his sword to kill her.

“No, I won't be killed by an Iron Born weapon, kill me the proper way.” Here Benjen hesitated. “You owe me that much.”

“I owe you nothing woman,” Benjen snapped back. How dare she think that? "You were going to commit treason against my family!"

“My last request then,” Barbrey said weakly. “One Northerner to another. Please.”

“Very well,” Benjen thought on it and formed an ice blade around his hand. He loomed over his target and readied himself.

“Protect my son,” Barbrey continued. “And teach him well.”

“I will.”

“That sword on the table is his, the armor too.” She gestured but Benjen just nodded his head. She was clearly disoriented if she thought the table had survived the blast. “Go on then, do your duty.”

Barbrey gasped when the ice blade slipped between her ribs and stabbed her heart. Benjen shoved his blade further, feeling the blood warm the ice before he removed his hand. He watched the light leave the eyes of his brothers lover.

He moved to grab the sword she spoke about. His father would decide what to do with it. He grabbed a lantern from outside and threw it on her body, watching it catch fire. Even with the White Walkers being destroyed, the North Men still burned the bodies of the dead, especially if they couldn't reach a Maester to prepare the bones.

He waited for the body to burn some more before he put out that fire and the other one. Taking his leave he passed a portrait of the late William Dustin, the last true Dustin and sighed sadly.

“Such a shame,” He murmured and walked away to go find his friends.

* * *

 

**Lord Larence Nightfall, the main courtyard of Barrow Hall**

Larence came down from his trance, breathing heavily. He surveyed the area around him, Dustin men were either dead or bound in chains and Dustin banners littered the ground. He looked up to see a silver and red banner fall into place of the old ones on the wall, the black leopard head in its center.

He almost cried when he saw his banner but refrained. This was his home now, with the titles and incomes to boot. Hornwood could remain with his brother, but now this was something all his own and he would defend it until his last breath.

“We'll have to see about getting you a wife,” Callum's large frame came up beside him, and bumped his shoulder.

“A wife?” Larence blinked.

“Yes, you're a lord now,” Callum rolled his eyes. “You'll need a lady to marry.”

“I doubt that there are many that would marry a bastard ,” Larence replied flippantly and grimaced when his friends face became like stone. “Sorry Cal, I didn't mean it like that.”

“Indeed,” Callum rumbled. Larence knew that Callum loved Wylla, and Wylla loved him, but she missed her family who still hadn't spoken to her. Mainly because of her marriage to Callum.

“So, has Lord Stark given you a keep to run, if not you can have Goldgrass or a place nearby,” Larence offered, knowing that the Stout's would be killed or were dead already. “I could always use your counsel.” That was partially a lie since Callum's skill lay in battle, not the governing of the people. It was said that he was a much calmer version of his father, Mors Umber, a man who couldn't be bothered to act like a lord even though his blood was noble.

“Lord Rickard says he has plans for Wylla and I, but he will speak with us about it at the convergence of Lords,” Callum frowned but offered a slight smile in the end. “I thank you for your generosity my friend.”

“We bastard boys need to stand together, no?” Larence said firmly and held out a hand. Callum grasped him by the forearm and gave it a shake.

“We stand together.”

* * *

 

 

The Banner of House Nightfall of Barrowton in case any of you wondered what it looked like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, this is just the first part, there is more to come.


	12. Battles in the North II

**Ser Jaime Lannister, Rillwater Crossing, the same Night**

He locked swords with what he assumed was a squire before he gripped the boy by his shirt and threw him away.

“Stay down boy,” He snarled, kicking the boy in the face for good measure. Damn, Jaime thought moving more into the fray, he might have known where Lord Aeron Glenmore was.

The Lord's son was dead, killed by the hand of the former slave known only as 'Digger' and his strange, curved weapon that he threw with great force. It split both the helm and skull and then came back into the waiting hand of its owner.

It was said that he was originally from Andalos, but he had spent a lot of time in the fighting pits, so his accent was very hard to place. He himself did not know where he was from, having been taken as a babe and sold into slavery. The only thing Jaime really knew about him was that Braavos had sent him and his team here and that Jaime was to take his son, Owyn, on as his squire when he was old enough.

He caught a strike that would have taken his head, and a hand burst from the chest of his would be killer who gasped. Behind him stood another former slave, a giant of a man called Pusher. He was a cart mover in Volantis and had lead a revolt that saw some of his fellow slaves, also named Pusher, freed from their bondage. Jaime was unsure as to how he came to know Digger, but they were two parts of a three package deal.

Pusher practically tossed the dead body over his shoulder. It sailed through the air, before landing on another person. Jaime almost flinched but stopped himself. He went through chain mail, boiled leather, and some plate as well, what in the Seven Hells is he? He thought.

“Try not to get so much blood on me next time,” Jaime wiped at his face while Pusher grunted and turned his head, showing the large tattoo on the left side of his face. Jaime turned to the sound of a woman yelling at several men that she killed or was in the process of killing with her flaming sword. This was Yira, another former slave and Pusher's wife. “What is she saying?”

“She says that they are a disgrace to their ancestors, and that they bring shame to their families.”

“She does realize that she is saying it in High Valyrian, yes?”

“In the heat of battle, ones blood is quite high, no? One cannot think clearly, with all this chaos about them.” To emphasize his point he swung his large arm out, catching a guard in the chest and sending him flying into a group of more guards. As they all bowled over, Jaime was sure that the one Pusher hit was dead and the others were severely injured.

“Ser Jaime!” Ser Brock Mazin called to him and he turned to his future brother by law. “We've found Lord Aeron!”

“Then bring him, Lord Rickard wants him alive.”

* * *

**Ser Brynden Tully, the Dreadfort, Midnight**

“Always fucking hated crossbows,” Yoren growled beside him, breaking of part of the bolt that pierced his shoulder.

“At least they take too long to load.” Brynden muttered taking hold of the other end and yanking it out. “Get to the Maester, he'll set you right.” Yoren gave a grunt and shuffled away. Brynden took the time to look about the place.

What a mess, He thought with a grimace. One because of how things looked and two because his chest still hurt from the sword blow he took. Thank fuck for armor, he thought, taking notice of Ser Locke.

“Ser Blackfish,” The other man greeted him with a slight smile. If Brynden had been a green boy, he might have flinched at the new scars that lined his friends face.

“Ser Wynter,” Brynden nodded at him. “Trying a new look I see.”

Locke chuckled darkly, “My cousin is good with knives, I'm a little bit better,” A bruised and bloody Roose Bolton was dragged by his feet from behind Locke who turned to where Brynden was looking. “Put him in the carriage, make sure he doesn't die on the way to Winterfell.”

Cold blue eyes looked up at Locke then around.

“Take a good look cousin, its the last time the flayed man will ever be seen again.” Roose spat in Locke's direction, ever defiant.

“Where are his wife and child,” Brynden asked curiously. He knew the plan was to let the boy live since he was still a babe and could be taught but he was unclear as to what would happen to lady Bethany.

“Domeric is being tended too by his wet nurse, Lady Bethany is dead, has been for a while it seems.” Locke shook his head, looking a little sad. “Roose loved her, as impossible as that sounds.”

“No more impossible than finding pathways into every part of the North apparently,” Brynden murmured quietly to the other man. “Thank the gods that Lord Richard shared that information.”

“Aye.”

Neither of them knew how Lord Rickard found these pathways, but he told them how to access them and over the many months up until now, they studied their targets. It was the only way for this plan to work.

“Speaking of Lord Rickard, here, a gift for you.”

Brynden took a tiny scroll from his fellow knight and opened it. He blinked at the words.

“You want me to watch your new keep? One you don't even own yet?” He asked incredulously. He knew little of Brier Wood Keep, outside of the fact that Ser Harlon went there to personally lay siege to it and to bring his brother in.

“You're trustworthy enough and I need to watch the Dreadfort for some time. You think my banner is just here for decorative purposes?” He nodded to the red arrowhead on white and black before he passed another scroll to Brynden. “This one is just as important.”

Brynden gave it a pass over and snorted, “I'll not be a lord.” He replied stiffly.

“Technically you'll be a Landed Knight like me. Your son or daughter would lead your house as lord or lady when they're old enough. Picture it, House Blackfish of Tumbledon Tower,” Locke gave an exaggerated framing gesture with his hands. “And the land is yours anyway, and unless you plan on dying any time soon, its going to remain yours until then.”

Bugger, Brynden thought. He never wanted to be a lord, and he still didn't but maybe he could use this opportunity to rub his brother the wrong way. He was very good at it and his potential success was sure to upset Hoster.

“Fine,” He gave a resigned sigh and received a huge grin in return. The grin grew even more when several men approached him. The grin faded at the solemn posture of the men. Brynden straightened at the sight of them.

“Shanks, where is he? Is something wrong?” Locke moved forward and demanded, “Where is my cousin, I told you to get him. Where is he?!” He yelled when he did not receive an answer.

“Locky,” Shanks murmured then stopped speaking and moved aside to reveal a cart with two bloody sheets.

“No, no, no,” Locke pushed past them and pulled back the sheet with the smaller outline. He gave a cry, “No! No Roger, not you. Oh gods please not you!” He clutched at the body of what looked like a five year old boy.

“What happened?” Brynden demanded of the one known as Shanks. Locke still wailed over the body of his dead kinsman.

“We came across the bodies in the village they were staying at,” Shanks responded calmly, not the least bit intimidated by Brynden. “Several Bolton men were in the area. They did the deed but wouldn't explain why.”

“How many men?”

“Eight.”

“And did you bring any back?”

“There are three outside of the castle, the rest fought back and were killed. They killed old Ben and a few of the dogs.”

“Bring them in and throw them in the cells,” Brynden ordered since his friend was in mourning. “Lord Wynter will deal with them in his own time.”

What a fucking mess, He thought moving towards his friend to try and comfort him. It would do him no good, not when ones grief was so fresh, but Brynden would not abandon his friend in a time like this.

* * *

 

This is the Banner for house Wynter:


	13. Conclusions

**Lord Mark Ryswell, Yearling Hall, Midnight**

“No! Not my boys please show mercy!”

Mark ignored his uncle and looked upon his cousins, “Which one of you did it?” None of them said anything. “Which one of you raped and murdered Elaena Glenmore?” Again they said nothing. Mark truly didn't know who did it and was horrified to see the naked body of his childhood friend inside of the castle. She was in one of their rooms, and maybe one of their men did it, but they would have needed permission to get into those rooms.

“Very well,” Mark shrugged and whistled. The ropes around the the appendages of his cousins tightened as the eight horses trotted forward. His cousins groaned or cried out at the action.

“Mark, these are your cousins! Your kin!” His uncle Rodrik screamed. “They are more important than some slut from Rillwater Crossing!”

Mark snapped his fingers in response. The horses turned around from their positions so they could get a run up. When they did, they ran like hell and his cousins were torn to pieces. His uncle screamed in despair while Mark walked up to him. Mark wrapped a hand around his uncles throat and lifted him off of the ground.

“That slut was one of my friends and she was true born and noble, your sons got what they deserved because of you.” He spat as his uncle whimpered in grief. “You tried to commit treason and many would have suffered because of it. You will face justice and answer for your crimes.”He leaned in to whisper. “No matter how much you beg me, and no matter how much you insult me, the only hand that will kill you is Lord Rickard's. Get ready to meet your makers, for the gods can be far crueler than men.”

He tossed him away in disgust and told his men to take him away.

“I should have let you die with your fucking cunt of a father!” His uncle roared out in fury. He was referencing the fact that Mark and his father Torr were attacked by bandits when he was a child. His father died from his wounds but not before killing as many bandits as he could. It was during winter and Mark nearly died from the cold. Coming here to lay siege to the only home he had known was difficult but necessary to ensure that justice was served.

“Yes, you should have,” Mark nodded in apparent agreement. “Then maybe your sons would still be alive and you would still be the Lord of the Rills and Yearling Hall.”

His uncle continued to scream obscenities while fighting against those who dragged him away.

“That was unwise, Ser Mark,” Ser Barristan's voice came from his left.

“Wise or not, its true,” Mark replied with a shrug. “My uncles ambition has lead to the deaths of his sons. I wouldn't be surprised if his daughter is dead as well. I take no pleasure in what I said, but we won and they lost, those are just the facts.”

Ser Barristan clearly disapproved of what was said but kept silent.

“Speaking of loss, how many men did we lose?”

“Two handfuls, mostly green boys who volunteered for us. That Dothraki fellow is dead as well.”

Mark noticed the sickle like Valyrian blade in Ser Barristan's hand.

“Trophy?” Mark would not miss Caggo by any means, but he would make sure that his sword was at the very least given to someone worthy of it.

“No,” Barristan held it out for him to take. “I figured my lord would appreciate a gift from his master at arms.”

The title was cover for the older knight. He would stay at Winterfell when he could to watch Visenya, but he would help train a new set of warriors for the future defense of the North.

“Hold onto it for now, I'll let lord Rickard decide on what to do with it.” The sword was styled for horse riders and it would have been perfect for him but he didn't earn it or have it bestowed to him by its previous owner. So he resisted the urge to take it. “Make sure that my banner is raised high Ser Barristan, I want everyone to see it from the Wall to the Neck.”

Ser Barristan nodded and barked orders for the men to raise Mark's personal banner. It was the same as the old Ryswell banner, but the black border and horse head were now white. This banner would signify a new era in the North for his house, one that was now completely loyal to house Stark.

* * *

 

**Lord Harlon Frost, outside of Brier Wood Keep, Midnight**

Harlon waited patiently in the clearing for his brother to appear. He could see his brother's keep and he could hear the fighting taking place.

Artos panted as he ran into the clearing, but stopped when he saw Harlon even in the moonlight.

“You,” His brother growled. “Are you responsible for that?!” He pointed at his besieged castle.

“I am,” Harlon nodded once. “Did you think that you could get away with it, brother?”

“Get away with what?”

“Your plan to put our cousin in place of Ned's children.”

“What madness are you speaking -”

Light erupted from Harlon's hand and it shot towards a tree that he brother was standing by. The tree exploded and Artos flinched away from it.

“I am not in the mood for games, Artos.”

His brother sneered, “Is that judgment I hear in your voice little brother? What right do you have to judge me?”

“When you endanger those I care about, I have every right!” Harlon snapped. “My wife is with child, your niece or nephew will be born within the next two months! Rei is the mother of your niece -”

“That little bitch is no niece of mine!” Harlon dodged a knife made of shadow and smoke as his brother roared. “And that bastard is no brother of mine! He is he reason our mother is dead!”

“Our mother is dead because she willingly and knowingly spread her legs for someone else to upset our father.” Harlon reminded him coldly, knocking another blade away. “Father was devastated when he found out and demanded justice. As was his right.”

“Our father was a fucking fool,” Artos snarled. “He should have been the Warden of the North. Our uncle has lead us to near ruin with his dealings in the South. Now some Southron spawn is to be my leader? I will not have it, and neither will the other houses!”

“Your allies are dead or destroyed,” Harlon said softly. “No one of significance will survive and if they do, they will face Lord Rickard and his sword. Surrender, Artos, and maybe you can be given exile.”

“Oh is that all?” Artos asked sarcastically. “And what exile will I face? Am I to be branded, like an eastern slave and thrown over the Wall to die? Am I to face exile in the east with the shit heads that claim to be our kin where I am most likely to die? That is not acceptable.”

“You have no choice, now surrender, its over!”

“No, little brother,” Harlon watched as his brothers eyes turned black and smoke wrapped around his body like a heavy cloak. “I decide when this is over.” Artos disappeared into the darkness but Harlon knew that he was still here. He was always there.

Harlon dodged a strike that was aimed at his back before he unleashed an explosion of light from his body. He glowed and his brother was on the ground in front of him, wailing and covering his eyes.

“You've blinded me!” Artos cried, writhing on the ground still.

“You always tried to sneak up on me when we were children, you should have learned some new tricks brother,” Harlon said with a catch in his throat. He drew Three Ravens Folly and the sound caught the attention of his brother.

“Harlon wait-”

“The darkness was always your ally,” Harlon spoke over the pleas of his brother. “I thought nothing of it really. To cloak yourself in shadow is a real gift, one that has served the North well in the past. I thought you would do the same.”

“Please-”

Harlon readied his sword, “But you never intended to help the North, you would send it in to chaos. You refused my offer, and you are too dangerous to move, so let me show you the light on the other side instead.”

“Har - gurk!”

Harlon shoved his Valyrian blade through his brothers throat as tears ran down his face, “Give mother and father my love.” Gods, forgive me for what I have done. He thought falling to his knees beside his brothers body. He howled in grief and the glow around his body faded into nothing. The only way to know if he was still alive was the sound of his sobs.

* * *

 

**Lord Aelyr Dayne, Starfall**

Various battles had taken place across the North and some of the noble families were destroyed or captured. Among them were the Ryswells, The Whitehills, the Warricks, what was left of the Glennmores and Boltons and their assorted Bannerman.

What was happening on an island in the borders of Dorne was not as dramatic as this but it was dramatic none the less. Lord Aelyr Dayne was being accosted by his wife, her brother Manfrey and his cousin Gerold. He sat calmly while his wife berated him for his treason against her house.

“Your house?” He interrupted. “And which house is that? Surely not house Dayne, since I have acted in the best interest of this house.”

“And how is it in House Dayne's best interest to allow a slight against my cousin to live?” Prince Manfrey snapped at him.

“Yes, we know about the little bastard girl that Rhaegar had with the wolf bitch,” Gerold said when Aelyr merely raised an eyebrow. “You call yourself a Dornishmen when you allowed that thing to live?” He scoffed. “Disgraceful.”

“Is your knowledge of the princess supposed to impress me, cousin?” Aelyr drawled, leaning back into his chair. “Because if it was, I'm afraid that its not all that impressive. Neither is this show of force.” He held up a hand. “I've listened to you drone on about my supposed treason. Now let me tell you the truth of it. House Targaryen may yet rule again, and I will follow the rightful heir of the throne. That happens to be little Visenya in the North.

“I know about your plans to try and arrest me today and that you have already enacted plans to reveal Visenya's true identity. A shame really, I envisioned the gobsmacked faces of the fools in the capitol and I may yet miss it.”

He wasn't going to tell them that Lord Rickard had smuggled a message to him informing him of what was to happen. If it were not for the method in which the message was delivered, he might have dismissed it outright.

“By order of House Martell, you are charged with treason and I am to take you into custody.” Manfrey tried to hide his surprise but failed. His wife gawped at him and his cousin smirked. “Ser Gerold will help my sister run this island until Allyria is old enough to rule.”

“I suppose I should also point out that you'll never take me alive?” Or that you haven't even told your cousin Doran about this? He thought snidely.

“That might be preferable,” Gerold smirked. Aelyr sighed.

“What happens next is your fault entirely,” He shoved his desk forward and launched himself backward into the air and landing on the mantle above his hearth. His wife and brother by law couldn't dodge the desk in time so they crashed to the floor.

Gerold sailed over the table and launched himself at his cousin. Aelyr grabbed a sword from the wall and met his cousin head on in the air. Their swords clashed as they struck at one another before the broke apart and bounded off of the walls to repeat the same thing.

Manfrey attempted to get his sister out of the room but the household guards interrupted them, pointing spears in their direction.

“Let us pass,” Leona growled when they didn't budge, “I am lady Dayne and I demand that you let us pass!”

“No can do, my lady. Lord Aelyr said to let no one leave the castle, including you.” Ser Devon Sand grinned nastily at her.

“My men will get us out,” Manfrey reminded him that there were still men loyal to them inside of Starfall.

“Your men are dead,” Aelyr's voice sounded from behind them. That was when they noticed that the sound of clashing swords was no longer heard and they turned. Aelyr was covered in blood and he wielded two swords now instead of one. Ser Gerold's head was on one part of the floor, his body on another.

“They've been dead since you've tried to chastise me. If you hadn't taken so long, you might have had a chance to escape.”

“The ships-” Leona stopped when there was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning from outside of the castle.

“Stars Fall but We Remain, those are the words of my house.” Aelyr said quietly. “Look outside the window.”

Both of Lewyn Martell's children went to the window and almost gasped. The sky around the island had darkened but they could see sunlight and clear skies in the distance. It was as if a storm appeared out of nowhere. There were bright lights in the sky, like stars but both of them new it to be impossible since it was still day time.

Then those lights fell from the skies and onto the ships, destroying them.

“No! Those are my men!” Manfrey turned around abruptly to yell at Aelyr. “Stop this! I command it in the name of house Martell!”

“Stars Fall but We Remain.” Aelyr repeated with a cold look in his eyes. “This is the house of the First Men, not up jumped foreigners who think that they are in command. Devon, take these two to the dungeons, I want them out of my sight.”

The siblings fought and shouted protests of all kinds but Aelyr kept them out of his mind. He looked out the window and saw the destroyed ships that had come to 'protect' his home from 'invaders'. He scoffed, they must have thought that he was stupid to not see through the lie. He thought of turning off the wards but he may need them for the time being. Prince Doran was a sensible ruler but his brother was a damn snake, who knows what he was going to do.

Aelyr sighed before leaving to go get clean. He needed to have a conversation with his children.


	14. Lords of the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of info in this chapter so if you have any questions please ask and I will explain/edit as best as I can.

**Lord Rickard Stark, Winterfell, towards the New Year**

Rickard watched the lords of the North arrive one after another from the window in his chambers. He thanked the Gods that Winterfell was big enough to house them otherwise this gathering would be very uncomfortable.

Today the Black shield with a white Border was in view, signaling the arrival of house Mance of Castle Black. Some of their strongest Bannerman, Houses Thenn, Shieldbreaker, Morna, and Giantsbane, of the Shadow Tower, The Stone Door, Snowgate, and Oakenshield, joined them. These were the last lords that were meant to be here and Rickard sighed.

They may be some of the most difficult lords to convince in supporting his granddaughter when the time came, if it came. The Lords of the North were generally indifferent to the Targaryens, but those who lived closer to the Wall and the Mountains and even Skagos most definitely did not like the dragons, mainly due to the practice of incest. These houses were the ones with the most blood of the First Men and were staunch worshipers of the Old Gods.

Not even the fact Visenya was not born of incest would be enough to sway them, for her father was a product of incest. These houses would never betray the North but they wouldn't accept her as anything other than a child, never mind a Queen. That is, if she even wanted to be a Queen at all.

“Am I doing the right thing here, in regards to my granddaughter?” He asked the small figure standing beside him.

The figure lifts its head to look up at him and glowing green eyes stare back at him, “You are not trying to crown her as of now, only a fool would do so but you acknowledge that she may want to be Queen. It is her birthright after all. You are doing the best you can Magnar of House Stark.”

The figure pauses to consider, “I know that you worry about those who have arrived today. My presence will be enough to sway them. Tha mi a 'mionnachadh seo.”

This I swear, his ally had said. It took a moment for him to translate what was spoken but he smiled none the less.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

**Ser Brandon Stark, the Great Hall of Winterfell**

He was tense, there was no other way to describe it. So many things could go wrong with what was to be said today and he wasn't sure that he would ever relax again. When his father stood, most of the hall had quieted down and soon everything was quiet.

“My lords,” Lord Rickard called in a clear voice, walking into the middle of the hall, the cloaked figure he had seen before, following close behind. “I thank you all for coming. I'm sure that some of you notice that there are a few houses missing from this gathering, I will explain why that is in due time.” Lord Rickard's face was like stone and it suggested that he would not tolerate any interruptions from anyone. Even the normally loud Greatjon was as silent as a grave.

His father paused and motioned for two of the guards to come forward, “I have some good news and rewards to give before I explain that however,” Rickard continued and one guard placed a pot with a Weirwood sapling in front of him, the other a large bucket with water. “Ser Jaime Lannister, step forward.”

The man who had saved his life stepped forward as quickly as he could but it wasn't done out of eagerness.

“Kneel,” Ser Jaime obeyed the command and Brandon watched as his father drew a obsidian dagger from his belt. “You kneel before me, as Ser Jaime of House Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister, a man I had once respected but no longer do. In truth, you broke a sacred oath to protect your king but that king was not worth protecting. You were said to be a vain and arrogant boy, but you risked your life and honor to return something precious to me.

“You are a conundrum Ser. If I was not sure of your loyalty before today, your actions involving the destruction of traitors to my house show that I can trust you.” There were murmuring as father handed Ser Jaime the dagger. Brandon could hear the other lords talking about who was missing and just how they themselves did not know about any of this.

Ser Jaime held the dagger in his right hand before he cut the palm on his left. He held his bleeding hand over the sapling. “I, Jaime, descendant of Lann of the First Men, do hereby swear my allegiance to house Stark, and forswear any allegiance to the house of Lannister, the price in which I pay with blood. I do so because it is blood that will be the price of betrayal against house Stark.”

A lot of the lords nodded in approval of such a thing even if they were confused as to why it was happening. Brandon glanced at the Septa that had come with Catelyn and saw that she looked disgusted. Catelyn herself fared no better but in the time she spent here, she had learned that there was a time and place to express ones opinions.

This was not that time.

The figure beside his father handed him some cloth as the murmurings became louder, “I, lord Rickard of House Stark, do hereby accept your oaths and welcome you as one of my Bannerman,” His father wrapped Ser Jaime's hand with the cloth and pulled him to his feet. “You knelt as a knight of the South, now you stand before me as a lord of the North. I name you Lord Jaime of house Lann, Lord of Parren's Den and the White Lion of the North!”

A blue and grey banner was raised by a member of the Mazin clan, at its center was a white lion. There were several claps of confusion at this but there were enough people who cheered. Parren's Den was a good name for Jaime's keep near the mountains. Parren was a common ancestor for the extinct Westerland house of the same name and the Mazin's who were descended from the female line.

His father dipped the blade in the water and called the three foreigners who helped Ser Jaime to come forward and they too, took the pledge.

The one known as Digger was named a knight and his house would be called the same when his son became a lord of the small keep in Jaime's land. He gave Brandon's father a cheeky grin, one filled with a few gold teeth as a banner of ten gold and purple discs on blue was raised next to the white lion of Lann. Brandon knew the gold rings represented the amount of coins he was bought for when he was slave and the purple was to represent Braavos which welcomed him with open arms. The blue was just because he liked the color.

Ser Pusher and Dame Yira of house Therys were sworn in as another knightly Northern house destined for another keep in Jaime's lands. Their sigil gave Brandon pause as it was raised beside House Digger.

It was the sigil for the Lord of Light but the heart was black instead of red and the flames were blue instead of yellow. There was a red star in its center and the field was a light grey.

The followers of the Red God that came here, like Thoros and Yira, hardly preached any sermons, mainly due to the fact that none of them truly believed in R'hllor. Then again, the religion itself had seen better days. Ever since the Targaryens had helped destroy the Walkers, R'hllor's follows couldn't preach about a prophesied savior anymore since there was nothing to save.

Very little worship happened in that religion but they still trained some of the best warriors in the world, two of which were in this very hall.

And the ceremony continued and there were now new noble and knightly houses in lands that once belonged to the vanquished houses or keeps that needed to be repaired. Stannis, who had joined them about two moons previous, was given control of Sea Dragon Point and all its lands for his part in helping Brandon take down the Warricks and later the Whitehills. His banner of a grey stag on black was raised alongside the white onion and black sails of Seaworth.

A good chunk of Land would be given to Ser Davos for his family, especially the Moss Castle and some would be given to Renly if he wanted it. He already had a banner at the age of seven but that didn't mean he wanted land when he was older.

Brandon knew that someone like the Blackfish wasn't entirely sure about marriage but he accepted the land and the oath, much to the apparent disappointment of his niece. The Blackfish on Red and Blue was raised beside the red arrowhead of house Wynter. The Knight had stood next to a solemn Locke and Harlon after he was sworn in.

Ser Bertram Bole, a second son of clan Bole, was given Goldgrass since he was the first one through the breach of Barrowton that still lived. His sigil of a lavender hand on black was raised beside the black snow leopard of Nightfall. Mark Ryswell was sworn in as the new lord of the Rills and his new banner was there for all to see.

The other lords were becoming restless now and it was only his father's silent warning that had stopped them from demanding answers. Thoros was being rewarded now being named a knight and he was given Warrick's Hold as his keep to do with as he pleased. His sigil of a yellow shield engulfed in white flame on red was raised behind Brandon who took a deep breath. It was his turn now.

He stepped forward and removed his cowl and mask to show his face, drawing gasps from everyone who didn't know that he was still alive. He knelt before his father. The smell of blood was strong and the water that was clean was now dark from all the blood that had been washed off of the dagger which his father now gave to him.

“I, Brandon, descendant of Bran the Builder,” He intoned with a clear voice after he cut his palm and held it over the drenched sapling. His son had healed him when he first set eyes on him the first month Brandon was back in the North. Brandon had been patrolling the halls late one night when he felt something slam into his leg. He looked down to see Stark gray eyes looking right up at him with a small grin.

“Dada,” His little boy exclaimed and reached up for him to be carried. Brandon picked him up and looked around to make sure that he was heard before looking for the nursery. All the while he told his son to be quiet and that he wasn't his father. His son frowned in confusion before he did something that Brandon would never forget. He manipulated the fire from a nearby torch to form a ball in his tiny hand and pressed the flame into Brandon's throat. The soreness that he felt whenever he spoke was gone and the rope burn that had been there was gone as well.

The following months had been hell since he had to maintain his cover and make sure his son didn't speak of who he really was. But one thing was for sure, his son had not only inherited his gift of fire, but he was already stronger than Brandon was at his age. He would need to be watched the most even though Visenya and Jon were coming into their powers as well.

“Do swear my undying loyalty to house Stark.” Brandon continued. “I forswear any claim to Winterfell and its lands and titles. My children, true borne or otherwise, will never hold this castle or the North unless they absolutely must. I and they will not bear the Stark name or fly the Stark colors at anytime. Blood is the price I pay, for it will be what is taken should I or my family betray house Stark.”

Lord Rickard's face was blank but his eyes held a certain sadness. Both of them knew that this needed to be done or Ned and his family would never know relative peace. His father began to wrap his hand.

“I, lord Rickard of House Stark, do hereby accept your oaths and welcome you as one of my Bannerman,” Brandon was pulled to his feet. “You knelt as my first born child, one who made many mistakes and gave me quite a few grey hairs in recent memory,” His father quipped. “Now you stand as a lord of the North in your own right. I name you Lord Brandon Snowfall of the Wolf's Cradle, formerly known as Highpoint!”

There was a dull roar but not one of celebration but rather, indignation, as Brandon's new banner was raised. The Northern Lords had finally had enough it seems. Now they were demanding answers and maybe even a bit of blood.

“Silence!” A voice shrieked above the noise and echoed across the hall. Brandon covered his ears in pain but before he knew it, the sound had stopped. The noise came from the small figure beside his father. A green hand removed the hood it was wearing and dark green skin and bright green eyes were revealed to all. The figure's hair was in tight braids that had twigs and leaves woven in in a specific pattern.

“My name is Leaf,” The figure growled out. “I am one of the Children of the Forest and ally to Lord Rickard. I will not tolerate any disrespect shown to him and his family.” Its eyes dared anyone to challenge what was said but none came.

Brandon blinked. One of the Children was here? In the hall of his forefathers? He glanced around the room and everyone was silent and shocked at what they were seeing. Except his father who had a small but smug smile on his face.

“Ser Rodrik, bring in the first prisoner.” His father intoned and the Northern knight stumbled his way out of the door to do what his lord bid.

* * *

Sigils for the new houses:

 

**House Lann of Parren's Den**

 

**House Digger**

**House Therys**

 

**House Stannis of Sea Dragon Point**

 

**House Seaworth of the Moss Castle**

 

**House Blackfish of Tumbledon Tower**

 

**House Bole of Goldgrass**

 

**House Thoros of Warrick's Hold** (Will be renamed at some point)

 

**House Snowfall of the Wolf's Cradle**

Bonus:

**Renly**

 

**House Longclaw** (Benjen's house)

 

**House Frost** (Harlon's house)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explanations will come especially in regards to Stannis and why he's in the North instead of the South(And why he no longer carries the Baratheon name).


	15. Father to Father

**Lord Rickard Stark**

To say that he was pleased would be an understatement. He had the attention of his lords now and it would hold through out the entirety of the day. Or so he hoped.

Ideally, he should have explained things a bit more before he started to reward those who had served his house loyally, but the lords would already be here for days and those days would be long enough as it was. Besides, they needed to be reminded of his softer side, one that was willing to reward loyalty.

Now it was time to remind them of why he was the Stark in Winterfell, The Sword of his people, and a King in all but name. Kings needed to soft at times but they also needed to be harsh as well. Today, he would demonstrate both.

Ser Rodrik returned with Aeron Glenmore, a man who had clearly seen better days. He was pale and he could barely walk straight.

“Remove the irons,” Rickard intoned sternly. “Lord Aeron is not going to run anywhere.” His men did as he bid and he heard a sigh of relief from a man he called his friend.

“Thank you Lord Stark,” Aeron murmured, rubbing his wrists to alleviate the pain. He blinked when he noticed Leaf and a very much alive Brandon standing next to his friend but shook his head

“Don't thank me just yet old friend, you have a lot to answer for,” Rickard gave him a harsh look. “You can start with telling me why you sided with the traitors to my house.” There were low rumblings but they were ignored since no one drew any steel at that moment.

To his credit, Lord Aeron stood as tall as he could and looked his overlord in the eye, “They had my daughter, she was taken when she traveled to meet with Rodrik Forrester, her betrothed.” The boy in question frowned in sadness, Rickard noticed. “If I didn't join them they would have -” Aeron broke off and he stared at Rickard with a pleading expression. “Is she alive? Did you find her?”

This was going to hurt, “I am sorry my friend, your daughter didn't make it.” Rickard replied with a heavy heart. Aeron put a hand to his chest and stumbled backwards, Ser Rodrik and his squire, Harwin, caught him before he could fall to the ground.

“How?”

The question came out in a strangled wail and Rickard just sighed, “She was raped and murdered by one of the Ryswell boys or one of their household. We don't know which, as both of them are dead and neither of them spoke about it.” If Rickard was right and Aeron was not long for this world, he needed to know everything.

Lord Aeron sank to the floor as tears streamed down his face and he sobbed.

“They promised that they wouldn't hurt her,” Aeron wailed in despair. “That was the only reason I even helped them.”

“You could have come to me for help,” Rickard said softly, and hopefully he didn't sound like he was kicking the man while he was down. Rickard knew the grief of losing a daughter all too well.

“I couldn't risk it, I couldn't risk my baby girl. But now I've lost her and my son.” Aeron covered his eyes and his sobs grew louder. The parents in the room understood his pain, even if they hadn't lost a child, and Aeron lost both of his.

“I am not a cold man Aeron, I share in your grief,” Rickard said after a few moments of respectful silence. “But the fact remains that you still sided with traitors to my house. You must be punished.” Even more than you already have, Rickard thought with a shake of his head.

Aeron sniffed and looked up at his friend, “Kill me my lord, I'm already going to die and...I want to see my family again. Its more than I deserve but...please, Rickard, make it my last request.”

Rickard pretended to consider his options but he chose the one he had already decided on, “Your execution will not be public and I'll make sure that you and your family are properly buried in the crypts of Rillwater.” He turned to Rodrik and Harwin. “Take Lord Aeron away, put him in one of the unused chambers and have a guard posted at his door. He need not go back to the dungeons. Then bring in Roose Bolton.”

Aeron calmly left despite his tears but he gave Rickard a look of gratitude. Rickard just nodded back silently.

“Some of you, are no doubt confused by the turn of events,” Rickard turned and addressed his lords. “Some of you may even wonder why no proper trials are taking place. And some of you may even wonder if I have taken leave of my senses in favor of Southron tactics.”

Some lords stared at him uneasily as he continued, “Some of you probably think that my daughter should have been married to one of your sons, and that way she would still be here. Some of you probably think that my son and heir, Ned, would be more well known to you, if I hadn't sent him to the Eyrie to foster with my friend, Jon Arryn.”

“I do not speak now to shame you or even decree that no one can have such thoughts. I'm not a god or a tyrant. But I know my lords. I know.” He glared at all of those he did not honor, including his 'cousins', the Karstarks. “I know what each and everyone of you has thought about my decisions in the past, and why you think the way that you do. Since none of you are plotting against my family, you all get to stand here as free people with all your lands and titles intact.”

The threat wasn't spoken as bluntly as his lords would normally expect but it wasn't exactly subtle either. Especially since he looked pointedly at the lords and warriors he ennobled.

No one dared to say a word, not even his three remaining children.

* * *

 

Roose Bolton limped his way into the great hall, face devoid of any emotion and his eyes were set on Rickard like a moth to a flame.

“I never thought deception would be a tool that would be used by your family,” Roose commented without preamble. Ser Rodrik kicked the back of his bad leg which forced him to kneel. Roose barely grunted as he spoke once more, “My ancestors would have applauded you for acting like a real leader for once.”

“But not you?” Rickard inquired.

“Does it matter what I think?”

“No, it doesn't,” Such a strange conversation to have in a time like this. Rickard could feel the incredulity rise in the room as he spoke with the son of a rival house. The only house that could ever truly give them any grief. “You know what's going to happen next, yes?”

“I do,” Roose nodded his head. “Tell me, my lord, what has happened to my son?” His tone was pleasant enough but there was an under laying current of concern.

“Which one?” Rickard knew damn well which one Roose wanted to talk about, but he wanted to know some things first before he finished with his judgment of the man. For all his calmness, there was still a hint of defiance and in Boltons posture and Rickard would crush it.

“The only one that matters.”

“You fucker!” Rickard heard Locke shout from behind him. “He was your boy!”

“And he was lucky that I let him live all these years,” Roose said in a matter of fact manner, still looking at Rickard. “His luck ran out when my real son was born.” Locke snarled with indignation but he took one look at Rickard's face when his liege turned his way and held his peace.

Rickard had known, but could not prove, that young Roger Snow was a product of rape, and he was only conceived as a means to further Roose's line as his wife had been unable to carry a child to term. At the time at least, when Domeric was born healthy all those months ago, and still thrived to this day, Rogers days were numbered.

“So you had your boy murdered,” Rickard remarked coldly. “You broke one of the sacred edicts of the First Men: Do no harm to children. And you did this for what, that fact that you had another son? Your wife had difficult pregnancies and your children didn't last for long when they were born. Young Domeric might not make it to his next name day.”

Roose said nothing.

“I suppose that's another miscalculation you made. It joins the already long list available, including the thought that your house might survive past this week.”

Roose gave a frown, a human gesture that seemed strange on him, “My son lives-”

“For now,” Rickard allowed a smile to break across his face. Time to enact his plan. “As I said, he might not make it despite his good health. And even if he did, his life is mine to mold and shape.”

Roose stared at him as if he wanted to squash him like an insect. Now it was time to twist the knife.

“His name will remain as Domeric, its a good and strong name. But his surname will be something different. The Flayed Man will not be his sigil and the Dreadfort will have a different name as well. Perhaps he could take the name Rogers to honor his brother and maybe he'll rename the damned castle to something much happier.”

“By my decree, you will be the last person to be named Bolton. The Flayed Man will be buried with you in some fucking field or a pig farm far away from your ancestral lands. Never again will the North hear or speak your name or that of the Red Kings that plagued this world.”

“It will be as if you never existed.”

“Even if the name will not survive, the blood will. It always wins in the end.” Roose almost growled after a moment. “And my son is not the only one that shares blood with me.” He added with a pointed glance towards Harlon and Locke.

“Then they and your son will join you in whatever hell you end up in should they decide to try something. Same goes for their descendants.” Rickard shrugged. “I have no issue in dealing with a problem in a more permanent manner.”

Roose stared in bafflement, “You actually mean it,” He breathed. “I must admit, I can't help but be impressed.”

“I didn't do this to impress you, traitor.” Rickard looked up to his loyal Knight. “He dies in the morning. Take him back to the dungeons and bring in the next prisoner.”


	16. Merman's Folly

**Lady Catelyn Stark, Winterfell**

Gods what a day, Catelyn thought as she walked beside her husband to her good fathers solar. Several houses vanquished, even more were ennobled, and yet, something told her that more surprises were to be had.

Ned hadn't spoken a word throughout the entire thing and the only movement he had made was to try and help restrain his cousins brother. He merely stared at the lords on trial and didn't even flinch when Rodrik Ryswell hurled his venomous words in their direction.

“Curse you and the Southron cunt next to you!” He spat. “My daughter should have been the Lady of Winterfell and my grandsons should have ruled the North!”

That had been the least offensive thing he had said during his entire rant. Ned hadn't moved at all and she only grimaced. The Northern Lords were watching them, testing them, if they had done anything more they might have been judged rightly or wrongly. So while it hurt on some level to hear her son and future children be spoken about in such a manner, it was necessary to not react so overtly.

In the end, it wasn't Lord Rickard who stopped the man from speaking, but Brandon. She tried not to wince when Brandon burned Rodrik's mouth close after his father had nodded.

She looked at Brandon now, his face was scarred from his time in the Capitol and he seemed slightly withdrawn than how she remembered him. While she was glad that her husband had one more sibling amongst the living, his presence made her worry.

Yes, he made his vows but words were wind and given all that happened to him, she wasn't sure of his state of mind. She wasn't sure that his child would feel the same either.

“You worry over nothing,” Catelyn looked down at the...being known as Leaf who gave her a sideways glance. “Any child that shares blood with house Stark will be protected by me and my people. Should anyone seek to use them for personal gain, or if they decide to break their word, action will be taken. Like with the rebellious lords.”

That still didn't quell any thoughts about Brandon's bastard but Catelyn kept quiet and glanced around. Most that traveled with her didn't pay her any mind. Her husband, his father, and his older brother each gave her looks. Nothing terrible, more...inquisitive.

“I'm fine,” She was lying and she hated it, especially since Ned knew that she was lying but she didn't want to talk about it. Not now, in front of people who were not family. She felt a presence side up to her and she turned to see her uncle staring down at her. “How is your hand uncle?” She tried to speak pleasantly, but she didn't quite manage it if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“Should be healed in no time. The salve I was given is working wonders,” Her uncle murmured, then raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the Septa who stood by your side?”

Catelyn hid a grimace, “Septa Mordane felt a little faint at the procedure taking place. She took her leave to get some fresh air.” Her uncle seemed to accept the answer but her husband shot her another look. The Septa was actually quite appalled at what happened but wisely kept her criticisms private and made for the Sept that Lord Rickard had built for Catelyn. She was probably praying for all the Northman to give up their 'heathen' practices and see the light of the Seven.

Catelyn almost snorted, it would do the Septa no good to pray for such a thing. The Seven were not strong here and one of the few houses that practiced that religion were wiped out not so long ago. The other major house that did, The Manderly's, were now headed to the solar with them, and they looked nervous.

They should be, She thought. Lord Rickard possessed a forgiving nature but forgiveness only went so far and if they had done something to offend their overlord then they might just be in for some trouble.

* * *

 

**Ser Eddard Stark, the Lords Solar**

His wife was unhappy, that much was true but she endured and he was grateful for that. She would vent later but to him and him alone. He had responses prepared and would be patient enough as she did so but now he needed to be ready for what was to come. His father sat in his chair at his desk, which had a large chest in front of it. Everyone else was provided with chairs so they too could sit.

Ned took a seat just to the right of his father as he was the heir and Brandon took one to the left as he was an advisor. Cat sat to his right and squeezed his hand when she noticed the rising tension. Benjen was there to help in case things got a little too heated and his cousins were there for good measure as well. So was lord Larence who eyed the two Manderly's with distaste. Leaf stood in one of the corners, waiting offer her opinion if necessary.

Lord Wyman sank down uneasily into his chair. Whether it was due to his weight or the nervousness he felt, Ned wasn't sure. His son and heir, Wylis, stared directly ahead and ignored the person that sat to his left. Lord Wendel was busy tending to his pregnant wife, the lady Asha of house Greyjoy to be here though Ned thought that was a poor excuse since Benjen came when he should have been with Dacey who looked ready to pop at any moment.

Wylla Crow, Ser Callum's wife, scowled at nothing in particular as she sat next to her brother. Her husband sat still like a statue and waited patiently.

“I presume that you know why I have called you here, Lord Wyman?” His father prompted the other Lord.

“I must say, Lord Rickard, that I am most confused as to why I was summoned.” Lord Wyman admitted with a frown.

“And you, Ser Wendel, have you any idea as to why I called you and your father here?”

“I haven't a clue my lord,” Lord Wendel said respectfully. Ned caught a hint of nervousness in his tone but he pushed it a side as he hadn't felt that either of them were lying.

His father opened his drawer and removed a piece of blue parchment from it. He closed the drawer and unfurled the parchment.

“Careful bastard, or you might find yourself in one of these,” His father read aloud and eyed the two Manderly's. Both just blinked at his father but it was the younger one that seemed to go pale. “This parchment was found in this chest,” Lord Rickard unlatched the lock on the chest and tipped it over the desk. It landed to the floor with a loud crash and its contents spilled out of it.

Lord Wyman frowned and tried to pick up one of the items to inspect it but his gut got in the way. Ser Mylton of house Merling, a cadet branch of house Manderly, rushed forward to help the Lord of White Harbor.

“My thanks,” Lord Wyman muttered and the knight nodded back. “This is from the Wolf's Den,” Lord Wyman tapped the etched wolfs head on the iron cuff. “But I don't understand, I ordered them to be melted down since the castle was not in use.”

“So you didn't have this sent as a threat to my sons friend? One who also happens to be the husband of your daughter?”

Lord Wyman turned red, “I did no such thing!” He exclaimed, entirely indignant. Ned didn't feel his skin tingle so lord Wyman was telling the truth. That meant only one thing.

“This parchment is the same color that your house uses and you owned the Wolf's Den until recently. If it was not you then who was it my lord?” Lord Rickard was as calm as ever but his eyes drifted over to Ser Wylis and narrowed.

Lord Wyman opened his mouth before he paused and turned to his son, “Please tell me that you didn't do this my son?”

Ser Wylis remained silent and clenched his jaw.

“Oh Wylis,” Lord Wyman sighed sadly. “I told you to leave them alone.”

“I haven't admitted to anything father,” Ser Wylis bit out. “And even if I did such a thing, this is between me and the bastard.”

The word had barely left his mouth before his sister smacked him so hard that he fell over, the chair he sat in broke under the force of his weight and the fall combined.

“You little shit!” Wylla snarled out, and made to advance on the downed knight. Her husband seized her around the waist and hauled her away from Ser Wylis. She still kicked her legs out and reached for her brother.

“Get your hands off of my daughter!” Lord Wyman roared and made to stand, only to receive a face full of foot when his daughter kicked him.

“I am not your daughter!” Wylla shrieked at him. “You abandoned me when I married Callum! A man who just saved your heir from being murdered! How dare you yell at him!”

“Enough!” Lord Rickard shouted over the noise. When things were calmer, he spoke again. “I cannot have discord amongst my Bannerman. This will be squashed, _today_. Lord Wyman, as it was your son and heir who committed this transgression, you will have to pay reparations.”

“I will not,” Lord Wyman retorted, “Not after he has defiled my daughter.”

“It wasn't a request,” Lord Rickard hissed at the other man. “I am your overlord and you two are my Bannerman. If you are truly loyal to me as you have often claimed, you will have no problem following my command.”

“If...Ser Callum were a part of a noble house, I would have no problem following your command, my lord.” Lord Wyman appeared contrite for a moment before he continued. “But as he is nothing more than a bastard -”

“Actually, he is the Lord of Rillwater Crossing.” Many people gaped at his father, including Ned himself. “I had planned to ask for the Wolf's Den to be returned to my house but you gave it to a man who saved your life, Ser Bartimus was it? He seems a decent man though he should lay off of the drink before it kills him.

“And given the tension here, it is probably good that Ser Callum and his wife will not answer to you directly. So, for his acts of _valor_ and _loyalty_ , I have named him as a lord, which, as the ruler of this region, I am able to do. Just ask your son Wendel.”

Even though he didn't show it, Ned felt awed by the way his father handled the situation and he knew that it was only going to get worse for Lord Manderly.

“Now, your payment for your sons act of stupidity will be this: you will pay a dowry to their family as is expected of you. I understand that there is some division in your lands between those who worship the Seven and those who worship the Old Gods. Send those who cannot get along with Faith Worshipers to Rillwater Crossing. Any others would be welcome there as I am sure that neither Ser Callum nor his wife care about who follows what religion.”

Here he glanced at the two in question and both nodded their answer.

“But you will not send your dregs there to cause unrest. I will know and I will punish you if that is the case. I also expect two brides to be on offer for Ser Thoros and Ser Digger, I don't care where you find them but I expect good, noble ladies to be ready for marriage. I am sure that you wouldn't mind doing such a thing. Maybe they can spread the Faith to those in the lands of both Houses. Wouldn't that be something? Not to mention that you would have better connections to these two new lords and we could be come a more united region.”

His father paused and narrowed his eyes at the two scowling Manderly's.

“The last thing I will ask for is your support in my endeavor to reveal the true identity of my granddaughter.”

“My Lord,” Lord Wyman asked in confusion.

“The Citadel will announce to the world that my granddaughter is not a bastard, but the true born daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and my daughter Lyanna, I would like your support should she desire to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Ned felt his hand start to hurt and Catelyn dug her nails into his flesh. He could feel her burning gaze on him but he ignored her for now. It wasn't time to explain.

“You ask too much of me, Lord Stark.”

His father gave Lord Wyman the gimlet eye, “If you truly feel that way then maybe I will find someone who is more agreeable and make them the Lord of New Castle and the city of White Harbor.”

“My Lord-”

“Or maybe you can find somewhere else to live outside of the North. I am sure that there are many people who would give power to the titles you hold. Shield of the Faith. Defender of the Dispossessed. Lord Marshall of the Mander. Knight of the Order of the Green Hand. Not Warden of the White Knife though, that will remain here if you leave.

“I truly believe that any region would take you in after you have been exiled, much like my house did. You may have to add another title to your list when that happens, how about Lord of the Exiled? That has such a nice ring to it. Truly lord Wyman, even with the demands I have made, I know you are smart enough to turn it to your advantage without committing treason and my granddaughter is still a babe. She may not even want the crown when she grows to adulthood and I only ask that you support whatever decision she makes no matter what it is. A lot can happen between now and then so what do you have to lose?”

Lord Wyman still frowned and so did his son. It took a moment for an answer to be said.

“I can accept your demands my lord.”

“Good,” His father said curtly. “You should note that neither your daughter nor her husband brought this to my attention. My Son Benjen did. He did not appreciate what your son did and neither do I. Everyone here knows what nearly happened to Berena Umber and this threat is not only insensitive but it is also _childish_. Get your son in line or I will do it for you. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Lord Wyman said through gritted teeth, turning to glare at his son.

“Good, you may take your leave.”

* * *

 

T **he sigil for house Crow of Rillwater Crossing:**

** **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be some of the reactions to these events and Visenya's heritage. Mainly from the nobles outside of the North. Mostly because we've been here long enough and its time to see what others think.


	17. Reactons I

**Lord Jon Arryn, the Red Keep**

Jon felt a headache starting to form. Not only had his old friend kept a massive secret, but the ramifications of that secret now tore the land apart if reports were to be believed. Robert's words still rang in his ears.

“I don't care what it costs or how it is done but I want the rape spawn dead. Do you hear me? I want it dead!”

Robert had not left his chambers in nearly four days and if he hadn't heard things being destroyed, Jon would have guessed that maybe Robert had drunk himself to death. A traitorous part of his mind hoped that it would happen.

His foster son was indeed a great warrior, but he had no mind for ruling and while he hadn't done anything terrible, his indifference had not gone unnoticed. The whispers that started in the first few days of his rule were now openly discussed in court, and Robert cared not one wit about them.

His wife, on the other hand, cared a little too much. So much in fact that she had not only insulted several noble heirs, but she had managed to harm a few of them as well. Blaming it on the hormones induced by her pregnancy hadn't helped all that much, but he wasn't getting help from anyone else. Robert refused to look at her and had only touched her to get her with child, he mostly whored around and avoided her as much as he could.

Tywin Lannister would have been able to cow his daughter into submission, but shamefully, pride got in the way of Jon asking him for help. Plus, the man had enough influence as master of coin and with his loaning a good chunk of his forces to help 'guard' the city. Jon was not interested in giving the man more power.

Lord Tywin was likely amused or even planned to deal with these dissenting voices in his own special way. And now my headache has gotten bigger, Jon scowled slightly as Lady Olenna Tyrell smirked at him in a way that suggested that she knew what he was thinking. Considering how intelligent she was, that might be a possibility but Jon didn't like it.

He wished that Robert hadn't demanded that the Tyrell's hand over a hostage or at least demand Mace Tyrell's wife and young son. Instead they received a harpy that was of an age with himself but with none of the restraint or humility that came with it along with some young girls that were not highly valued as hostages. On top of that Robert had named her the Mistress of Ships due to her Redwyne relations.

“Lord Varys,” Jon began quietly. “Is there anyway to confirm any of this information?” The Citadel prided themselves on having accurate information but he hoped that this time they had gotten it wrong.

Each member of the council had taken time to confirm things for themselves but Varys had the largest spy network here. It was why he was still breathing after all. That and because he was serving as Master of Laws since Stannis had left and they had yet to find a more permanent replacement.

The eunuch turned to him and murmured, “Every last bit of it, my Lord Hand. Prince Rhaegar was quite taken with Lady Lyanna and she was taken with him.”

“But how could they have been married? He was already married to the little sand witch Elia Martell,” Jon almost winced at what the Queen said and wished once more that he had found someone else to marry Robert, or that she would remain in her chambers.Thank the Gods that there was no Dornishmen here otherwise there might have been some blood spilled in this very room.

“While dual marriages fell out of favor and indeed out of practice, there is no law against them. And they married in front of a heart tree in the style of the First Men. The marriage was witnessed by several people one of which is still alive and in the North. The marriage is legal and binding.”

He sounded a little too pleased with the prospect or maybe Jon was just hearing things in his old age. The Grand Maester opened his mouth but thankfully he was interrupted.

“It matters not,” Lord Tywin scoffed with an eye roll. “The Targaryens no longer control these lands and there is no guarantee that the child wasn't raped into Lyanna Stark anyway. She is nothing more than a pretender. It would be a fool's errand to follow her as such.”

You mean you wished that she was nothing more than a pretender, Jon could see the concern in the other mans eyes. For once they were in agreement. This girl, this Visenya, was a problem and one that they would need to deal with. Her very presence threatened the legitimacy of Robert's reign as King.

“Prince Rhaegar didn't share many qualities with his father especially when it came to raping ones spouse. I suppose we'll never truly know as both parties are dead. But in the off chance that you are correct Lord Tywin, it is a good thing that the Mad King denied your request to have his son marry your daughter.”

As much as Jon liked the jab at the old Lion, now was not the time.

“And is there any way to speak with Lord Rickard or any way to get to the child?” He interrupted the impending argument. He knew that it was appreciated but right now he didn't care.

“Some of the last pieces of information I had from the North was that several houses were destroyed and several others were given lands and titles.” He retrieved some parchment from his pocket and handed it to Jon, “That is the complete list. The Citadel will make announcements soon.”

Jon read over the list and almost cursed. Any house that they could have used to distract Rickard and his family was killed or in a state of limbo with their properties given to others. How did this happen? He repeated the question out loud.

“Lord Stark was very well informed of a plot done by some of his Bannerman it seems. Something about placing his sons bastard in place of his heirs children.” Varys shrugged. “The traitors have been properly dealt with and many reaped the benefits, including Ser Jaime or rather Lord Jaime.”

The Lannister's perked up at this.

“You have news of my brother?” The Queen demanded.

“Yes though I am afraid that it probably won't be good news for you and your father. You see, when Lord Jaime received his lands and titles he forswore any connection with you and your house. A good thing perhaps, since the King had already done so and the Northerners don't particularly care for you Lord Tywin. I understand that you and your son had a disagreement before he disappeared?”

Tywin scowled but didn't comment. Jon knew that the fight was about what happened to Princess Elia and her children. Apparently Jaime was quite fond of the princess and her children and did not take kindly to what his father had done even if it was necessary.

“The Northern savage probably demanded that my brother do so,” The queen growled out. “We need to deal with House Stark and retrieve my brother from their clutches.”

Jon almost rolled his eyes and Olenna Tyrell did before speaking, “Your brother made his choice and with pride I imagine. Don't you Lannister's go on and on about how a Lion does not answer to their lessers, including other Lions? Seems to me that the boy just simply grew tired of being stuck with you as family,” She turned to Varys as the queen sputtered, “What else has the boy been given?”

“He is betrothed to the lady Emma of house Mazin, or clan Mazin if you like. She is Lord Alvyn's younger sister and soon will be the Lady of Parren's Den, Lord Jaime's stronghold. His name is no longer Lannister but instead it is Lann, something that has earned him some favor with the Northern lords.”

Of course it would, Jon almost smiled at the discomfort the Queen was showing especially in regards to the fact that her brother was betrothed. He knew that the two had...dabbled in a bit of intimate relations and she was probably upset at losing her lover for the second time. And the name of Lann was more appreciated than what was later added on.

The name Parren was not lost of Jon either. Parren was an old First Men hero whose family used to populate the Westerlands. Several houses were descended from him, including Payne, Reyne, and Mazin. The Panye's still lived there, the Reyne's were extinct like their mother house and the Mazin's traveled North to the Winter Lands and settled near the Mountains.

While they were not a great house or even a large house, they had helped with the mining efforts in the North and helped produce some of the finest gems and blades on this side of the world. Cold Steel was stronger than most swords ever produced and could hold against Valyrian Steel but not by much.

“And Lord Rickard was not only repaying Lord Jaime for his valor, but also for him saving the life of his son, Lord Brandon.”

Jon jerked a little at that and read the list again.

“Lord Snowfall?” He questioned and Varys nodded.

“Lord Brandon has also renounced any claims on Winterfell in the name of himself and any of his children.”

“None of this matters,” The queen snapped. “It is the crown who decides what goes where and the king did not decide on any of this. These actions are tantamount to treason.”

Lady Olenna snorted, Lord Tywin narrowed his eyes at his daughter, Jon almost groaned and Varys smiled indulgently.

“Lord Varys, is there any legal merit in what the queen just said?” Olenna Tyrell did not like anyone here but Jon knew that she especially hated the Lannisters. The Tyrells were nothing more than glorified stewards who owed everything they were to the Targaryens. She probably lamented the fact that her son did not press the advantage that he had when he fought against Robert but there was nothing to be done about that now.

“Only if there were a lack of heirs to one house and if the Overlord is incapable of finding a suitable candidate to take over the land in question. No treason has been committed by Lord Rickard, at least not against his grace King Robert.” Varys continued to smile.

“They have seceded with half of the kingdom,” Cersei Lannister shrieked at him. “How is that not treason?!”

“The Starks bowed to King Aegon and his wives but with conditions,” Jon spoke slightly in defense of his friends house and with a bit of disdain for the woman. “With the Targaryens gone, the Starks and their region will not answer to us. Neither will Dorne.”

The Queen went red in the face, having caught on to his tone but Jon continued, “It has been a long day your grace, perhaps it is time for you to rest,” He motioned for some of the guards to take the queen away.

“I am not tired,” Cersei hissed at him.

“But the stress cannot be good for the child, so you should rest your grace.” Lord Tywin added his own advice though it sounded more like a command. “The Grand Maester will go with you to make sure that the heir to the Iron Throne is healthy and we will continue dealing with this situation.”

Cersei glared at her father before she dipped her head and excused herself with two guards at her side. Pycelle stuttered and shuffled his way out of the room.

“Now with those two useless fools gone, we can some up with solutions,” Lady Olenna said then shrugged. “The only one I can think of that wouldn't be too costly is marriage.”

“Marriage?” Jon frowned. “Whose marriage?”

“I know that you are older than I Lord Arryn but surely you are not so old as to see the benefit of having this girl marry King Robert's first born son by the Queen?” Lady Tyrell was impatient as she spoke. “You could win the North back with this match and maybe whatever lingering resentments that exists will die out with a legitimate dragon on the throne. You won't get Dorne back, though why you would need it I am not sure.”

“The idea has merit,” Jon began slowly. “But the King would never agree to it and I don't think the Queen will either.” He glanced at his rival who nodded once. Neither of them would have tried to persuade them either.

“Oh well,” The woman shrugged and got to her feet, “I am going to take my own advice and leave since I have nothing more to contribute.” She turned and muttered loud enough for all of them to hear, “Give them a golden idea and they piss themselves like children.”

“That woman is insufferable,” Lord Tywin muttered after she was gone.

“But correct, a marriage could keep the realm at peace and any dissent amongst the loyalists at bay,” Varys replied.

“One of the Lords mentioned in this list is Stannis, where is he exactly?” Jon asked him to change the subject.

“He's been given land in Sea Dragon Point and one of the old castles to boot. I believe he calls it the Greystag and he is deciding on his new name. It seems that he and Lord Jaime have done well for two men that were disinherited.”

Stannis should have never been allowed to leave the Stormlands. Jon thought, closing his eyes. If Robert hadn't pushed for a marriage with the Reach, and if Stannis wasn't stubborn, the fight that happened wouldn't have been so bad. Now Storms End had been given to the Castellan to hold until a second son of Robert's line was produced, and Stannis could no longer bear the Baratheon name and neither could Renly.

Robert had singlehandedly doomed his entire house to extinction with his stupidity and now the only ones who could have helped were no longer able too. And Jon doubted that they wanted too.

“I don't have much more information from the North. It seems lord Rickard had found my spy network there and given something of great value to my little birds.”

“And that would be?”

“Homes. Families to take them in. I suppose that would be the downside of employing orphans,” Varys sighed and stood himself. “I will see if I can get more there and should anything happen elsewhere, I will keep you all updated.”

The two lords paramount sat in silence.

“We can't afford another war,” Jon said after a moment.

“Not after this last one, no.”

“Some of the best assassins in the world operate out of Braavos and they will not touch the North,” Jon continued.

“No but that girl cannot be allowed to live,” Tywin glared at him. “And she will not marry my grandson. Enough dragons have sat on that ridiculous chair, we don't need another one.”

“So what are we to do?”

“That, my lord Hand, is the million dragon question.”


	18. Reactons II

**Prince Doran Martell, Sunspear**

“Our cousins are imprisoned by the traitor Lord Dayne, our enemies are in disarray and the little wolf bitch left a lasting insult to our sister and you do nothing but sit in your chair!” His brother raged at him.

“Are you finished?” Doran's voice was tired and flat on the surface but anyone with good ears could hear the warning and angry tone as well. He continued before his brother could express his rage even further, “Sit down and I will tell you why I haven't made any overt moves just yet. Sit down Oberyn.” He repeated when his brother didn't do as he was told.

Reluctantly, Oberyn complied and Doran waited for him to settle before speaking again, “We cannot make any moves against our enemies because we do not have the power to do so. The bulk of our forces were slaughtered at the Trident and we need to protect our borders with what we have left.”

“We cannot let these things go unpunished,” Oberyn argued.

“In some cases we have to,” Doran held up a hand when his brother opened his mouth. “No, Oberyn, you will hear me out on this. We have to let them go unpunished so we can rebuild. And we have to let some of them go because they were not slight's to begin with. Like the Princess Visenya for example.”

“How is the spawn of that northern cunt not a slight?!” Oberyn slammed his hand on Doran's desk, the sound was loud enough that Areo Hotah rushed into the room. Doran held up a hand to show that he was okay before he turned back to his brother.

“Because Princess Visenya was planned for,” Doran replied calmly and Oberyn looked at him incredulously but didn't say a word. Doran continued, “She was needed to further Rhaegar's line -”

“He already had two children for that,” Oberyn spat, interrupting him. “Or did you forget about our niece and nephew?”

“While they were our family, they were not Rhaegar's children, Visenya is the only one.”

Oberyn lunged forward to strangle his brother but Areo rushed forward to grab him just in time.

“It is a crime to harm a prince of Dorne,” Doran remarked. “But in this case, I can make an exception.” He nodded to the dark skinned Norvoshi who yanked at Oberyn's shoulder. Oberyn cried out when he felt his shoulder pop out of the socket and glared at his brother after a moment.

“You are the more martial of the two of us, though I am not with out my talents with a spear,” Doran began coldly. “And lest you forget, I am your older brother. You answer to me, not the other way around. The First Men decreed that the younger child answers to the elder, something our Rhoynish and Andal ancestors echoed to a certain extent. So when I tell you that Aegon and Rhaenys were not Rhaegar's children, you will take my word for it.”

“You lie!” Oberyn hissed, both in pain and anger. “Our sister would never betray Rhaegar in the way you suggest!”

“Who said he did not know of it and did not encourage it,” Again his brother was dumbfounded, if he were not grieving, Doran might have enjoyed himself in this moment. “Our sister was more Dornish than many gave her credit for. You remember the whispers about how she was like a delicate Northern girl from the Reach and such?”

“You know damn well that I remember. I've throttled enough people over it.”

Doran ignored the growled words that his brother offered, “Elia was strong and paid them no mind but in her heart of hearts, she could not bring herself to lie with Rhaegar, for she loved another. And he could not force himself on her for he was not a monster. Slightly foolish perhaps -”

“If what you say is true, then who sired those children?”

His brother was calmer than before but not that much. It was the best that Doran could hope for at this point.

“Arthur Dayne,” Doran replied. “Our sister loved him so, and he loved her.”

“Not enough to stay by her side apparently.” Oberyn remarked bitterly.

“He was still a member of the Kingsguard, he had his duty to perform. If he hadn't then maybe our sister and their children would still live but we will never know. Thank the Gods that Aerys never found out before he was killed.”

“How did you know about this and why did you not tell me?”

“Elia was a wreck after Rhaenys was born, I couldn't understand why,” Doran began. “I remembered Mellario and even mother being happy after they gave birth. It took some time but Elia did confide in me and for the first time in a long time, I was at a loss as to how to help her. I couldn't demand that she lay with her husband, it was not my place. And how could I of all people tell someone to forgo their love for someone when I married for love. But if anyone else found out it would have been disastrous.

“I didn't tell you because you didn't need to know. Tell me true, do you care that they were not Rhaegar's children?”

“I find it more preferable.” Oberyn admitted with a slight grimace. “He was no good for our sister.”

“You're just upset because he was someone who wouldn't fuck you.” Doran replied bluntly. “And no one would ever be good enough for Elia. Not in your eyes at least.”

“He left our sister to die, that is all the reason I need.”

“He did not leave her there, a plan was in place to get her out. But something went wrong,” Doran sighed. “Uncle Lewyn was sent to lead the Loyalist army and Rhaegar was already gone. No one could reach her without raising suspicions.”

“So what was to happen to the children when Rhaegar got a child of his blood into the world? I assume there was a plan as well?” Oberyn snarked.

“Of course. Rhaenys would have come here, to Dorne, perhaps she would have married Lord Anders' son and heir. It would have been good to help with relations between our houses.”

Oberyn looked away briefly. Doran knew that he was not sorry for killing Lord Edgar Yronwood, but he was sorry for the fall out from it. Mainly the fact that Doran's son and Oberyn's oldest daughter were now wards of their biggest rivals despite the fact that both were barely past five name days, with Quentyn having just turned five.

“Aegon would have been encouraged to abdicate his 'claim' to the throne if Lyanna Stark birthed another boy or he would have married Rhaegar's daughter. There is precedence in the Targaryen line for both. Despite their bastardy, they had enough noble blood between them that they weren't entirely horrible matches or ideas.”

Arthur had enough Valyrian blood thanks to his mother who was from Lys and The Martells had Targaryen blood just watered down. The Starks were promised a marriage or two with the dragons but to have one of their kin sit the Iron Throne may have been enough to forgive that outstanding debt.

“And we would have had the throne either way,” Oberyn remarked thoughtfully. “Since Rhaegar was one of our cousins, his daughter is family as well.”

“Precisely,” Doran nodded. “And the North would have been further tied to the South. Their alliance with the richest of the Free Cities is a welcome boon to our combined economy.”

“If this was all planned out, why did you not inform anyone else, especially Lord Rickard? His knowing might have stopped his son from getting himself killed.”

“Too many people knew too much as it was. Not even Queen Rhaella knew of this and she was one of Rhaegar's biggest supporters. Lady Lyanna sent her brother and father letters to explain the situation. Unfortunately, they were intercepted by the now Late Lord Baelish according to my sources.”

Oberyn looked confused, “Who?”

“He was a Vale Lord, from the Fingers to be precise. He wasn't anyone special really, though he did serve as a spy master for Hoster Tully.”

“Ah yes, I remember him now. Small man, oily demeanor, more snake than even a Dornishmen or a Tyrell.” Oberyn winced when he moved too quickly and touched his shoulder. Doran gave Areo a look then a nod. The captain of the household guard snapped Oberyn's shoulder back into place. His brother howled in agony for a brief moment.

“Give me some warning next time,” Oberyn said through gritted teeth.

“It is better to be surprised Prince Oberyn, it hurts less.”

“More Norvoshi wisdom, old friend?” Doran asked.

“A soldiers wisdom, my prince.”

“So Baelish lied to Brandon Stark, for what purpose, what did he hope to gain?” Oberyn ignored their by play to get to the matter at hand.

“Apparently he fancied Lord Tully's oldest daughter. He had challenged Lord Brandon to a duel for her hand. He lost, quite badly I'm told, but he was spared from death at the request of Catelyn Tully, and he only kept his job because his father saved Lord Hoster during the War of the Nine Petty Kings. Lord Baelish was quite embarrassed or so I was told.”

“Revenge,” Oberyn murmured, rotating his shoulder to see how it fared. “I guess he got it then, with the death of Brandon Stark.”

“Brandon Stark isn't dead. Ser Jaime, Queen Rhaella, and Lady Ashara Dayne saw to that.”

“I don't even want to know about that just yet.” Oberyn grumbled. “So we will not touch Rhaegar's child, but what of our cousins?”

“We leave them where they are,” Doran said flatly. “What they attempted to do has brought shame on our house. I have Lord Aelyr's word that they will not be mistreated.”

“They are still uncle Lewyn's children.”

“And he would be appalled at what they attempted to do. Trying to arrest a Lord in his own home? Attempting to Usurp his place before his eldest child was ready to take hers? How they hoped to keep this from me, or even get away with it, I know not. But they will pay the price and we will not lift a finger to help them.”

“At least have them turned over into our custody,” Oberyn suggested.

“No, Oberyn. Our Northern Bannerman, that is to say, the ones that keep to the old ways as well as the new, are watching how we respond to this.”

“Then let them watch!” Oberyn snapped back. “We cannot just do nothing.”

“We must, you don't understand Oberyn, the Northern Dornish houses are the only ones holding our enemies at bay on land. They do their job well and the only time they let anyone through was because it was intentional.”

“They wouldn't dare,” Oberyn protested, having caught on to what Doran was getting at. “They would be affected just as much as we would be.”

“Not with their wards activated, Lord Aelyr destroyed a few of our ships by turning his on and he hasn't turned them off yet.”

“Wards? Don't tell me you believe in that -”

“I've seen them Oberyn,” Doran snarled, partly in anger for his brother's ignorance and partly in fear. He remembered being a boy of ten, traveling with his mother and father to visit the various Bannerman of Dorne, of his kingdom. He was excited by the people he met, the things he saw, but the fear he felt at seeing the old defenses of the Yronwoods, The Daynes, The Fowlers, the Jordaynes, The Wyls, The Wells', was almost too much.

His mothers words came back to him in that moment.

“They are some of our strongest Bannerman. They knew when to yield and Nymeria and Mors were ruthless in gaining their surrender, but these houses have not forgotten that they were once kings and queens.”

“They never will.”

“You can only keep them satisfied but you will never fully rule them, unless you have something over them or if you have a common enemy. They do not marry into our families unless they have to and they marry anyone with the old blood when they can. Do not anger them my son, it will be the undoing of house Nymeros Martell. It will be the end of Dorne as we know it.”

“Maybe you can see our cousins to check on their condition, I doubt Lord Aelyr will begrudge you that,” Doran added in a much more composed voice. Oberyn looked at him in worry but Doran just continued, “If you do so, you will tell me beforehand and you will go with a small group of guards. You will not carry any weapons, and I do mean any weapons, on your person. You will be on your best behavior and you will not embarrass us as our cousins have. Do I make myself clear?”

His brother would never truly understand his fear of those with more blood of the First Men than anyone else. How could he? He was never meant to rule and the Gods had not felt the need to be that cruel, though they did take their siblings away from them, so perhaps their family was not left completely unscathed.

“I understand,” Oberyn said quietly.

“Good, now let us discuss Lord Tywin, and how we will make his life a living hell.”

* * *

**Baron Taenyr Blackfyre, The Black Palace, Lys**

“We have to bring her here Taenyr, I need to see my grandchild.”

Taenyr felt for his cousin in that moment but he had to dissuade her, “Rhaella, the girl is safe where she is and besides, its not as if we can just demand for her to be given to us.”

“She is my granddaughter!” Rhaella hissed. “She is the last piece of my son left in this world.”

“But she is also Lord Starks grandchild as well,” Taenyr remained calm. “And I doubt that he would let any harm come to her Rhaella.”

“Please,” Rhaella began to cry. “I need to see her.”

Taenyr sighed, “I can open talks with Braavos and maybe they can send word to Lord Rickard. That doesn't mean that it will work,” He warned her when she began to look hopeful. “And it doesn't mean that we will get her. But maybe, you could be allowed to see her. It will most likely be in the Winter Kingdom.”

“Please try, I care not for the cold. I just need to see her with my own two eyes.”

Taenyr nodded and she gave him a kiss on the cheek before she left his chambers for her own. He sighed slightly. How was he going to do this? Despite Braavos being a free city just like Lys, and despite the fact that neither of them practiced slavery, Their cultures and practices were too different.

It had become especially different when his ancestors had taken over the city and killed the Magisters who were making secret deals with Volantis and Qohor to help further the slave trade. While it would have helped boom the economy, and since there were still slaves in Lys at the time, freed or otherwise, the practice was abolished completely within twenty years of Blackfyre rule.

It wasn't easy and they were always on guard with only the Golden Order of Knights as protectors. Taenyr knew that at any moment he and his family could be taken from their homes and put into bondage. Talking with Braavos could help alleviate the burden his family felt but he knew that they were not overly fond of Valyrians and Taenyr was more Valyrian than he was not.

He sighed again and looked at the portrait on the wall. There stood his ancestors, Daemon the First, Aegor the Bittersteel, and Brynden the Bloodraven. It was they who took this city but it was their children and grandchildren that held it.

“What would you do?” Taenyr murmured quietly. It was a question he had asked them over a thousand times in his role as First Baron of Lys. And like all those other times, no answer came to him.


	19. Overture

**Lord Rickard Stark, Winterfell's Godswood, The fourth month of 284 AC**

Rickard looked down at the broken and battered body before him. An assassin tried to kill his granddaughter while she played outside in the Godswood with the rest of his grandchildren.

This was the third attempt since the new year, the first to be nearly this successful, and he was starting to go from annoyed to beyond furious.

He couldn't let it show, not in front of his people, he had to be strong for now. It wouldn't do for him to lose his temper.

“How did he get this far?” He asked Leaf, being careful not to sound accusatory.

“He follows the Red God,” She replied with distaste, patting the red flame of R'hllor on the body's deformed shoulder. “They know different magics than what we can do. I will need to confer with Dame Yira on how to combat this better. The defilers may not use much magic anymore, but they are not above courting those that do it seems.”

Defiler was a word that Leaf had used to describe the Andals and before the pact, the First Men. She was not overly fond of those in the South save for the ones that kept to the old ways and still married those with the old blood.

Rickard was happy that the Andals only advantage on them was the ability to move their numbers quickly and were well provisioned in some cases. He knew from the old stories that Andalos was filled with magic and that the invaders had used magic before.

He guessed that inter mixing with a different group of people had canceled it out and the lack of contact with the Children had made many bloodlines lose their magic unless they married those that hadn't. His own family had intermarried with the Children before they went underground.

And thank the gods that we know our lands better than they do, He thought with a sigh, “So how did you stop him?”

“I didn't, Visenya did.”

Rickard blinked once, then twice, and on the third time he spoke.

“Say that again,” His incredulous tone earned him a huff and an eye roll.

“She may be a babe but her power is strong,” Leaf murmured fondly. “She's an earth mover, and if you humans lived long enough she would learn how to move mountains, at most she'll probably learn to destroy a castle or two.”

Leaf spoke with such normalcy that Rickard blinked once more. He looked around at all the blood, frowning.

“How did she kill him?” He dared to ask. He wasn't sure how he felt about his grandchild killing so young, but he supposed that it could be worse.

“She clapped her hands together and held them there and the earth itself mimicked the action,” Leaf demonstrated the move to make sure there was no misunderstanding. “She tired herself out, the poor thing, and she fell asleep. The strain was just too much for her.”

“And how did the others react?”

“The young ones thought it to be a trick, Lady Catelyn grabbed her son and nephew and started running at my behest. The other children were taken by the Wolf Guard you formed. It took me almost half an hour to pry the earth apart and put it back where it belonged.”

Rickard absorbed the information quietly before shaking his head, “Send the body down a river, the water should be enough of an insult to his god. I'd have him buried if I thought that his rotting corpse would nourish the land instead of poison it. A pyre is not an option to consider right now.”

“Of course Lord Stark,” Leaf nodded her head, looking thoughtful. “I have a few a ideas, all of them theatrical but it would send a message to our enemies. You should speak with Lady Catelyn, she seemed frightened by the whole thing.”

Rickard nodded his head. “See it done. I will go and speak with my good daughter.”

* * *

 

**Lady Catelyn Stark, Winterfell's nursery**

She had calmed herself as she looked over the children. Robb and and Robin rolled around, laughing all the while. Markus watched over them from a distance while he sat next to Visenya's crib. Catelyn found herself staring at the crib with trepidation.

“Its not her fault,” Dacey murmured from her left as she held her daughter Lyarra.

“Excuse me,” Catelyn turned to her good sister and blinked.

“Its not Visenya's fault,” Dacey repeated. “She didn't ask for any of this.”

“I know that,” Catelyn retorted then added a little defensively at Dacey's look of disbelief, “Its true! I know it isn't her fault.”

“Then why do you make that face when you look at her crib?” Dacey raised an eyebrow. It irritated Catelyn to no end.

“Because I am afraid, is that what you want to hear?” Catelyn replied coldly. “My son and nephew were almost killed today. My niece was almost killed today and I am afraid of what she could become when she gets older. How many of us almost died today?”

“Did you want her to die?”

“No!” Catelyn growled out, angry and horrified at what was just said. “Visenya is not the problem but her presence has caused problems. We only just finished one war we cannot afford another.”

“You mean your father cannot afford another. Though that hasn't stopped him from igniting one amongst his banners.”

Catelyn flinched at that. Her father had been upset, she was told, when news of her nieces parentage was revealed. Every house that supported the Targaryens in his region, and were already punished after the war was done, were punished further in response. The men were hanged, the women were separated and married off to various loyal houses to try and hold claim to their lands.

House Darry had been obliterated and their castle and lands were given to Ser Emmon Frey, Genna Lannister's husband. Some of the remnants of these houses fled the Riverlands to parts unknown, though a few did enter the North. She remembered the desperate and enraged faces of those her father had dispossessed while her good father had given them shelter.

“That is enough Dacey,” Catelyn turned to see her good father standing in the doorway. “Lady Catelyn is not at fault for what her father did.”

“Neither is Visenya,”

“No one here has said that, least of all Lady Catelyn.” Lord Rickard intoned sternly. “Benjen will want to know of your status.” The dismissal was heard by all. Dacey bowed her head in Lord Rickard's direction and started to stand. She gave Catelyn one last look, eyes drifting down to Catelyn's stomach that she had cradled protectively throughout the conversation.

Dacey's gaze softened a bit into one of understanding. She gave Catelyn a nod and took her leave with her daughter.

“How far a long are you?” Lord Rickard asked after a moment. He bent down to pick up Markus who had toddled up to him. He smiled down at Robb and Robin who crawled his way. He sat down next to her as not to trample the boys.

“Maester Luwin believes I may be a month into my pregnancy,” Catelyn made herself small, hunching over her stomach as if to shield the life growing inside of her. “He also believes that I may be carrying twins. I know that twins are not common in the Stark family -”

“But they are common in yours,” Rickard said softly. “This is wonderful news Catelyn, why have you and Ned not announced it?”

Catelyn flushed and looked away.

“You've not told him have you?” Lord Rickard sighed at her silence. “Still cross with him are you?”

“While I am displeased with not having been told about Visenya in the first place, I can forgive that,” Catelyn replied. “But with war all but declared on the North, I wasn't sure if my telling him would bolster Ned to do more or worry him to no end.”

“Ned is always going to worry, its in his nature,” Rickard replied. “And war has been declared for a long time. Its just done more overtly now.” He grabbed his grandsons hand when it gripped his beard too tightly before tickling him.

“I see none of her in his face,” She murmured, thinking of the boys mother.

“There is a bit of Barbrey in his nose and at the corner of his mouth,” Rickard countered, smiling when Markus giggled at being tickled. “But he looks almost exactly like Brandon did when he was this small.” He looked at her then. “Is his presence still an issue for you?”

“No, it is not.” She admitted honestly. “I worry over him being a potential pawn for someone else. I doubt that fear will ever go away given how some of the Northern Lord reacted to the truth about Visenya.”

None of the houses had declared war on house Stark, and they had no love for the South, but they were not happy with how Visenya came to be. They must have felt that the war they fought was pointless and a Stark had helped start it no less.

“Fair enough,” Rickard nodded, before he could speak, a messenger came running into the room.

“My lord,” The man panted loudly, startling all the children. “A letter from our scouts below the Neck.”

He handed off the message and Catelyn moved to pick up the two boys on the floor and place them in their cribs. Visenya whimpered at the loud noise and opened her mouth with a small cry. Catelyn picked her up and began to bounce her. The girl was clearly tired and weary but she didn't continue with her crying.

“It seems Lord Tywin has been given unimpeded access to the Riverlands thanks to Hoster Tully,” Lord Rickard said grimly. “He marches for the Twins. Tell my nephew to raise the defenses of the Moat,” He said to the messenger. “Have letters sent to all the houses in the North. War is here.”

Catelyn tried to swallow down her fear but there was a massive lump in her throat. Oh father, what have you done?


	20. The Twins

**Ser Gerion Lannister, The Twins, the sixth day of the fifth month of 284 AC**

He watched from the ramparts of the western tower as a rolling fog crept towards them from the North. An uneasy feeling entered his gut as it covered more of the Green Fork. It didn't help that it was the middle of the day either.

“The Northerners are going to play dirty, I can feel it.” His brother murmured from his left. “And we have no way of being able to get past them.”

“The Royal fleet can hold them on the Eastern Coast Tyg, and our fleet will hold the West with the Redwyne's,” Gerion countered. “We just need to go forward.”

“In that?” Tygett asked dryly, jabbing a finger at the fog. “Unless you have a means to see through that, we won't be going anywhere. It would be nothing but suicide.”

“If Tywin wants us to go-”

“Do not mention him to me,” Tygett snapped. “I don't want to hear another word about our brother or that prick Hoster Tully. Neither of them are thinking straight if a little girl can scare them both like this.”

“Its what she represents,”Gerion said softly but he understood where his brother was coming from. Neither Tywin or Hoster Tully had been the greatest of people to be in the same company with these days. Tywin's angry glares or Hoster Tully's indignant croaks were not something to look forward too when a meeting needed to take place. “Have you any word from Genna?”

“Our brother killed a lot of her husbands kin, some of which she was fond of, I doubt she wants to talk to the two us after we just stood there and watched.”

Gerion flinched, remembering the screams of men, women, and children alike almost three weeks ago. Only a handful of Frey's were left, Including Ser Stevron Frey, who couldn't even be called a lord because the King had disinherited every Frey save for a few. Gerion had heard that the king needed to be persuaded to not disinherit Tyta Frey and Rei Rivers even though it was the smart thing to do.

Jon Arryn hoped to persuade Harlon Frost or Locke Wynter to either send word to Lord Rickard or, in Harlon's case, let them through to the North with having the claims of their wives still remain intact. Gerion thought it was a fools errand. And Hoster Tully only agreed to all of this because he wanted his daughter safe and because he wanted his grandsons rights to be formally recognized when they won. If they won at all.

“Riders approaching from the North!” One of the archers shouted. Gerion looked towards the figures heading their way. They bore a white banner for peace on one end and a White Wolf on red and purple at the other.

“Its lord Harlon,” Tyg muttered, “We should go and treat with him.”

“Tywin wanted us-”

“Tywin can go fuck himself,” Tyg growled. “We might have a chance to finish this now. By either taking him as a hostage or getting him to agree to contact Lord Rickard. We're going Gerion.” His brother turned to one of the soldiers, “Bring Stevron Frey outside and give him a horse. He is coming with us.”

* * *

 

**Lord Harlon Frost, the West Bank of the Green Fork**

Harlon sat atop his horse patiently, waiting as his good brother rode alongside people he didn't know. Going by the armor and blonde hair of two of them, he assumed that they were actual Lannisters and not just their foot soldiers. He just didn't know if they were from the main branch of Lannisters or from the other ones since there were so many of them.

“Stevron,” Harlon called out to his good brother. “How are they treating you?” He ignored the two obvious leaders of this party.

“I am alive so I suppose that's something.” Stevron said quietly, dryly. The two Lannisters shot him looks which he ignored.

“And your father?”

Stevron's face became pinched and he said nothing in response.

“Who else?” Harlon's voice was cold. He expected that Old Walder would be dead, and he wouldn't miss him, but killing a lord in his own home just wasn't done. Neither was killing his family without cause.

“Most of the family, including Olyvar,” Stevron replied flatly but with tears in his eyes. Harlon tried not to jerk at that. Olyvar was one of the few Frey's he could tolerate and he was one of his wife’s favorite brothers. He was also his sons namesake. Tyta is going to be devastated, he thought, turning to glare at the others.

“I see Lannister treachery has reached a new low, Tell me, who am I addressing?” He spat at the two Lannisters in front of him.

“I am Ser Gerion Lannister, this is my brother Tygett.” One of them said calmly and gestured to the man next to him. “We are brothers of Lord Tywin.” Harlon figured that out after he mentioned the names but he said nothing.

“So mind your tongue heathen,” Another man snapped at Harlon, who for his part, looked the man up and down.

“And you are?” Harlon asked.

“Ser Lymond Vikary,” The knight said with a huge amount of pomposity. “And -”

“So you're a nobody,” Harlon interrupted flatly. “Hardly any lands to your name, you've hardly done anything of importance and the one powerful family you descended from is extinct and their holdings were not given to you after they were gone. That must have really irritated you.”

House Vikary were a fairly new house in comparison to some of the older houses of the Westerlands. But no one forgot where they came from, especially since they made it plain on their house sigil.

Harlon remembered hearing about what happened to the houses of Reyne and Tarbeck and, as a boy, wondered why the bastard house of the former was not rewarded for helping destroy the rebellious houses and their vassals. And then he heard more about Tywin Lannister and understood that he was not as generous as his father, Lord Tytos, had been.

Harlon scoffed at the knight and looked back at the two Lannisters, “I thought you Lannisters were too proud to let a nobody speak up in you defense? Or is that just your brother I am thinking of?”

“Ser Lymond will not be speaking out of turn again,” Gerion assured him and his brother nodded in agreement. “Isn't that right Ser?” He glared at the other knight who nodded his head but said nothing.

“So what are the terms for your surrender?”

“Our surrender,” Gerion repeated, completely bewildered.

“Yes, your surrender, what do I need to give to gain it? Besides slaughtering your forces on both sides of the Green Fork of course.”

It was clear that neither of the Lannisters considered this an option as they just stared at him.

“Why would we surrender?” Tygett Lannister spoke up. “We have the numbers here and now, and while your three towers at the Moat could hold back our army on land -”

“Twenty-two.” Harlon interrupted him.

“I'm sorry?”

“I have twenty-two towers at the Moat,” Harlon explained to the bewildered man. “I aimed for twenty-five but my wife thought that we had enough. And we have enough men to be our garrison so I can't really complain.” He shrugged at their incredulous looks. They were probably thinking that he was foolish to reveal such information. “I have no fear of you even reaching my home, the Crannogmen will not even let you near it unless our overlord tells them too. What harm could there be in telling you about it?”

“Be that as it may, you will find yourself surrounded by our fleets,” Tygett seemed less sure than before he spoke and Harlon shrugged again.

“We have enough food to last for a long time and winter is not yet upon us,” Harlon replied, grateful that the long seasons had ceased so long ago after the defeat of the White Walkers and their leader. It was hard to imagine living in a world where summer and winter lasted for decades. “To be honest with you however, I doubt that your forces will be needed past today.”

“And why is that?” Gerion asked, curious despite himself.

Harlon felt, more than saw, the fog behind him lessen to reveal the several northern shield walls behind him. The eyes of the men in front of him widened almost comically. For the Westerlanders, it was in surprise and even fear. For Stevron it was joy and a bit of hope.

“If we fail to save you brother, I swear that all of you will be avenged.” Harlon told Stevron solemnly. The older man nodded his head with a few tears on his face. He turned to the other knights. “Whatever misconceptions you have about my people, it will be your undoing. Enjoy what freedom you have left.”

With that he guided his horse and rode back into their lines, the shield walls moving seamlessly out of the way to allow him and his riders back into the fold. When they were far enough, he turned to his friend, Ser Devyn Reed.

“Gather the men and push the fog past the Twins. Then alert our southern allies that within the hour, we unleash hell.”

Devyn nodded with a determined scowl on is face and did as he was commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know when the next chapter will be, but it will directly follow what happens here and will touch upon the things raised in this chapter.


	21. Witness

**Lord Tywin Lannister, The Water Tower, The Twins**

“You imbeciles!” Hoster Tully roared at his brothers. Part of him wanted to slap this man silly for thinking that he could verbally accost his brothers, but he too was angry with them. “You had him in your grasp and you let him slip away!”

“I don't give a fuck if you are Lord Paramount of the Trident,” Tygett, the angriest of his brothers, snarled back. “We don't answer to you Tully!”

Tywin pounced on the opening his brother stupidly gave him, “But you do answer to me.” He said waspishly, and with a hard glare at his brother who glared back. “And I want to know why you hadn't grabbed him before he left.”

“Because there were shield walls directly behind him, hidden by the fog. There were at least four behind him.” His brothers glare had not lessened in the slightest. It seemed that he would have to show Tygett why he was nothing more than a cub in comparison to himself.

“Bollocks!” Hoster Tully scoffed. “Our archers reported no such thing.”

“Maybe it is because they weren't there.” Gerion replied with a roll of his eyes. “Or did that escape your notice?”

“Where is Ser Stevron?” Tywin asked one of his men to avoid further conflict. Not because he wanted peace but because if what his brother said is true and there were shield walls on the Western Bank, then it stood to reason that there were some on the Eastern Bank as well. They didn't have time to argue right now.

“In the Eastern tower, my lord,” The Knight replied nervously. Tywin noted the gold coins on purple and white of house Payne. This wasn't Ser Ilyn obviously, but he wasn't sure who this was. It was no matter he supposed.

“Clegane, take this one with you, bring Stevron Frey here to me. And maybe his wife or one of his sisters as well.” His loyal dog nodded his oversized head. As the men began to leave, they heard screaming from outside.

Hoster Tully rushed to one of the windows and he rushed to another one. Several of their horses to the North were on fire and some of their riders had been slaughtered by what looked like...demons? He shook his head to clear it but the demons were still there. What madness has befallen me, He thought with narrowed eyes.

“Brother, they're on the bridge,” Gerion told him from his position as the screams got louder. “They're taking our men into the river with a tentacled creature.” His voice trailed off in obvious disbelief.

“We have riders from the south, some waving Dornish banners and a few that I can't make out,” Hoster Tully bit out, “But my own Bannerman have turned traitor.”

Not surprising, Tywin thought. Though his actions had been sanctioned by the crown, whatever respect and goodwill Hoster Tully had earned as a young man was washed away when he dispossessed and ruined many noble houses who were loyal to the Targaryens. Even now that house plagued them all.

“And some of the sellswords have joined them.” Again, not surprising. He was reluctant to hire some of them but they needed the numbers. He had only brought half of his forces from Kings Landing and sent for half from Casterly Rock.

“They cannot take the bridge,” He said calmly, drawing his sword and putting on his helmet. “We will hold it until reinforcements can arrive.” He turned to the knight from before. “Run to the Western Tower and tell them to send whatever men they can to us, then run East and do the same. Clegane, clear a path for us.”

* * *

 

**Ser Gerion Lannister, The Twins**

His brothers dog shoved the heavy door off of its hinges, using it as a shield for the incoming arrows from the flying demons above them. The tentacle he saw earlier made a move towards him, so he dove out of its path. He swung his sword to block an attack from a demon with a flaming chain. He then pushed the demon away when it got to close to him. He swung again when its left side was open and his blade passed right through it before it disappeared. He felt a blow to the back of his head, his helmet taking the brunt of the force.

He was dazed, much like he had been as a child when he attempted hand to hand combat against one of his fellow squires. His helmet was removed and he turned to swing his sword again but his arm was caught. His face exploded into pain as he was backhanded and his sword was taken from him.

“Not a bad quality,” The demon growled but its image flickered to that of a man with little armor and a cocky grin. “I think I'll keep this one for now.” A fist collided with Gerion's face and he went down like a sack of potatoes. He looked up, the image of the demon flickering again before it stopped and settle on the man he saw earlier.

The man was heading towards his his brother Tygett and in his fading vision, all he saw was a white Mandrake on a blue and green cloak before the world went black.

* * *

 

**Lord Harlon Frost, the Western Twin**

Harlon's blade flashed before it cut through a Lannister man like he was nothing but air. If this were not a war, he would have used a castle forged sword from the South in the name of fairness. But these fuckers had come into the home of his wife's family under a peace banner and killed the majority of them. Neither fairness nor peace was a possibility at the moment.

Cutting down another man like the other one before, he heard a roar of pain from outside. Peering through the window, he saw Ser Pusher breaking the arm of the Mountain that rides, hence the roar. At least he hadn't ripped the arm clean off, Harlon thought with a snort. Yira had told him once that she suspected that her husband was descended from the Stone Giants that used to roam Essos freely. They were said to be magnificent but unfortunately they were declared extinct since they hadn't been seen in nearly a thousand years.

Harlon grabbed a guard that ran by and slammed him against the wall nearest them.

“Where are the remaining Frey's?” He growled and the guards eyes widened in fright. The spell his friend had placed him under helped keep their enemies off balance.

“The second floor of the tower, last door at the end of the hall,” The guard whimpered in fear. “There are some in the Western Tower as well. Pl-Please don't kill me.”

Harlon slammed the guards head against the wall, and the man slumped down to the ground. He quickly moved to the tower in question, killing as many men as he could. There were two guards in front of the door that held some of his good family hostage.

“I've killed enough of your friends, what difference can you two make?” He asked with an irritated sigh when they both stood at the ready. One of them charged at him. Harlon was too irritated to actually lift his sword but he lifted his hand and fired a beam of light. It tore through the guards body and sent him flying into the other one. Harlon rushed forward and stabbed the fallen guard he hadn't killed in the head.

He took a breath and looked back briefly before he broke the door down.

“Harlon!” Stevron exclaimed.

“We must make haste, more men might be on the way.” Harlon noticed that his good sister, Marsella of house Waynwood, stared at him in shock. Mostly due to the fact that he was covered in blood and she clutched her son tightly to her chest. “Please,” He pleaded with not only her but with the handful of others that were in this small room.

“You heard him, move!” Stevron barked. The Frey's here obeyed their lord and began to follow Harlon. They had barely filed into the hall before five guards came towards them from the other end.

“Drop your weapon!” One of the guards in front snapped at Harlon. “I said drop it!”

“The day I listen to the orders of a Lannister arse kisser is the day I take leave of my senses,” Harlon replied, baring his teeth.

An arrow head shot through the face of one of the guards at that moment. A curved piece of metal flew overhead towards Harlon before it shot back with twice the speed and embedded itself into another guard. A figure shot forward and sliced at the guards in all their weak areas, mainly the neck and face.

Blood spattered in many directions and by the end of it, three figures stood over a pile of carnage. The tension was broken by the figure in the blue half cloak.

“Oi, bastard!” Ser Digger snarled . “The wife just had this made!” The one holding a bow look towards the angry knight before dismissing him. The object of his anger looked his way.

“Not my problem,” Locke rolled his eyes as he turned to Stevron. “My lord, its nice to see you in good health.”

“You as well Ser Locke.” Stevron was wary, Harlon could see it in his eyes, but he was grateful as well.

“Shall we?”

Locke turned around and walked away before anyone could answer. A fuming Digger followed right after him, intent on saying his piece. When the third figure turned, everyone saw a white Mandrake on the back of his cloak.

“I thought they had died out,” Marsella muttered behind him. There was a certain amount of awe in her voice.

“The death of my house was greatly exaggerated my lady,” The archer turned back and offered a grin. “Ser Anguy of house Draven, at your service.”

* * *

 

**Ser Bronn Draven, The Twins**

As he stared down at Tywin Lannister, rage nearly took hold of his actions but he settled himself before anything could happen. It would be so easy and no one would really complain. Except maybe the Dornish but he couldn't bring himself to care all that much. However, letting the fucker live had been a part of the arrangement to gain the rewards that he was promised. After living in exile for all long time, it was time to come home. He and his brother were all that was left of house Draven and he had promised on the graves of his parents that he would provide a good life for Anguy, now was his chance.

“Wrap this fucker up, then put him with the other prisoners.” He ordered his men and kicked the unconscious lord. “And then get out there behind the shield walls and pick off any stragglers.” He nodded to the moving Northern shields that moved rapidly, grunting loudly as they did so.

He looked along both sides of the Green Fork as his men did as they were told. The screaming may have died down but men were still dying. He picked up his chain that he dropped earlier in favor of his sword. He knew someone was trying to sneak up on him, but he pretended not to hear.

He lifted his leg to avoid the sweeping move of a sword and turned on his heel. He shoved his would be attacker who had turned to far on his own heel, exposing his back.

“You fucking traitor!” The Lannister Man snarled, continuing with his attacks. “You swore to help us!”

“I'm a sellsword, what did you expect?” Bronn dodged many swings and clipping the man here and there. “And after what your master did to my family, taking his gold was naught but a bonus for me.”

Bronn disarmed his opponent and rushed in close and rained down heavy blows with his chain. After a while he wrapped it around the mans neck.

“When you're in hell, tell the rest of your friends and that Ser Bronn of house Draven sent ya,” Bronn tightened his hold, slightly enjoying the fact that the man started to turn blue. He tossed the body over the side of the bridge, catching a bit of water that splashed back from the body falling in.

“Looks like I got more fucking Lannisters to kill,” He muttered to himself. “Move it men!” He shouted at his War Boys. “The sooner we kill these cunts the sooner we can fuck the tits off of all the whores we're going to buy.”

His men cheered loudly, having been bolstered to do more. Bronn looked at the field of battle once more.

For my Reyne cousins, For the Tarbeck kin I could have had, and for my parents who were loyal to their family. Tywin Lannister will die, and you will be avenged after all this time, He thought smiling with satisfaction as he could see more banners, tents and bodies being destroyed. Then it started to rain. He laughed, not even sure if this was a natural rain or some sort of trickery from the Crannogmen but he didn't care and he started to sing.

“And so they spoke and so they spoke, those lords of Westerly, but now the rains, weep o'er their cause, for all the gods to see. Yes now the rains, weep o'er their cause, for all the gods to see.”

* * *

**Sigil of house Draven, Formally of Dragora Hall in the Westerlands, Descendants of House Mandrake and Sworn Bannerman of House Reyne**

 


	22. Pledge

**Lord Rickard Stark, the great hall of The Twins, the next morning**

He sat in front of their captives with a sigh, “All of this could have been avoided, had you just kept to yourselves.”

Predictably, the captives said nothing.

“What did they promise you Hoster, to turn your back on the alliance and friendship we had? Gold? Land? A new wife?”

“Fuck you,” Hoster spat.

“No, Hoster, fuck you.” Rickard's glare only deepened, the blood and war paint on his face making him look more menacing. “I gave you the hand of friendship, even took your daughter in as my own, and you spit in my face? Family. Duty. Honor. Your house words. What part of your actions lately even remotely resemble those words?”

“I am honor bound to uphold my duty to the realm so I can protect my family!”

“Family is the first word in that motto,” Rickard snapped back. “And when Catelyn married my son, we became family. Your gods damned pride got in the way unfortunately and your wits seemed to have left your head!” He retrieved a scroll from his pocket and unfurled it. “Read it.”

Hoster glared at him but the writing caught his eyes. They widened and his nostrils flared.

“Artifice!” Hoster snarled, fighting against his restraints. “That missive is a lie!”

“Actually, brother,” Brynden Blackfish came up behind him. “Those are Edmure's words begging me and Lord Stark for help. Against you and your activities. What in Seven Hells happened to you, Hoster?”

“Edmure knows his duty, he would never betray me. And even if he tried, Maester Vyman is loyal to me.”

He sounded so sure and Rickard almost felt bad for what he was about to do, “Regardless of whether you believe it or not, you are clearly unfit to be lord of Riverrun. By my decree in the name of your son, you are stripped of your title and will serve out penance for the crimes you committed against those you were sworn to protect.”

He nodded to a cloaked Leaf who stood to the side. She walked slowly but with a purpose as Hoster began to shout at Rickard.

“You don't have the authority Wolf Fucker! King Robert will smash your head into the ground and raze your castle and lands! You will burn for this!”

“You first.” Rickard replied coldly. Leaf placed one hand over Hoster's face. Despite its small size, it stopped him in place. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open.

“You orphaned children, you widowed husbands and wives, and you destroyed houses that were already punished. You gave your word, your oath, to be just but firm. To protect. You failed, Hoster, son of Hendry and Leana, to do any of that.”

“Now you will know sorrow and pain and despair. The feelings of the survivors that I encountered. Feel the power of the innocents you harmed. Beg all you want, I will not stop the penance you need to serve!”

Leaf snarled and Hoster's eyes glowed red before he started to scream and writhe on the ground.

“Take him away,” Rickard barked at his men. “Make sure he doesn't kill himself or hurt anyone else. Thank you my friend,” He nodded at Leaf who left the tent with the others. “Don't worry your pretty blonde heads,” He said to the three Lannisters. “What will happen to you will not be as dramatic, but in the case of one of you, it will be permanent.”

“Though he said it less delicately, Lord Hoster was correct, you do not have the authority to do what you just did.” Tywin Lannister said calmly and without even a trace of fear.

“Ah, but according to you, Lord Tywin, a man can take people by surprise and even appoint himself the authority above even the King himself while his men do as they please. Is that not how you got your daughter to be Queen?”

“What I did stabilized the Realms. What you are doing is the opposite.”

“You sound as if you disapprove,” Rickard rolled his eyes. “And what, pray tell, should I do to rectify the situation, my lord?”

“You can start by killing the rape spawn of your daughter.”

Rickard almost jumped to his feet to beat the shit out of the prick but he refrained, “Or I could have your daughter killed. Maybe you'll see how it feels to lose a child.” He shrugged when all three Lannisters clenched their jaws. “Not that you'll live long enough to see her again anyway.”

He gestured to the man wearing the black portcullis grill over sand of house Yronwood, “Ser Romyn is the brother of Lord Anders Yronwood, he will be taking you to Dorne lord Tywin along with your dog. Enjoy your trip.”

Dornishmen rushed at Tywin, who struggled as best as he could.

“You'll pay for this Stark,” Tywin hissed as he was pulled out of the tent. “You and all your savages!”

“Maybe,” Rickard allowed. “But you still won't be around to see it.” He turned back to the remaining Lannisters, “You two...you will head North to stay with your nephew Lord Jaime. From here on in you will be hostages of his house. I don't think you'll be getting the welcome you want. I understand that he was close to your sister Genna? And he wasn't exactly happy about what his father did to someone he considered a friend in Elia Martell. I wonder what he'll think of you?”

Rickard shrugged again as if it didn't concern him. He knew it affected them and truthfully a part of him was affected. Jaime was sort of a nephew in spirit to him now. He knew of the young lords hopes and fears for the future and he had an inkling about how Jaime would feel about his uncles. They had been men he looked up to and their lack of action in regard to the Frey's would not be seen in a good light.

“Take them away,” Rickard turned back to Brynden Blackfish. “It is strange to see you with black hair my friend.”

“Well don't get used to it, I'm washing my hair the first chance I get, this hair dye smells like shit.” Blackfish eyed the backs of the retreating Lannisters. “You should have just given them to the Frey's and be done with it.”

“I had considered that, but I think keeping them alive and in the hands of someone who won't torture them is best. Besides, Kevan Lannister holds Casterly Rock in his brothers name. Having them with us may make him hesitate to retaliate in some fashion.”

“Aye,” Brynden nodded then sighed. “You know, I'd never thought that I would feel bad for the Frey's. I've known wet shits that I like more than I do the Frey's but still..” He shrugged.

“If you feel that badly about it you could marry -”

“I don't feel that bad about it.” Brynden interrupted him with a roll of his eyes.

“Just a thought. Speaking of the Frey's, I need to speak with Lord Stevron, care to join me?”

* * *

 

**Lord Harlon Frost, the Lords Solar of the Twins**

He straightened his stance when his overlord approached.

“Honored uncle,” Harlon greeted him with a slight bow. Stevron, who stood next to him, did the same.

“Lord Stark. Ser Brynden.”

“Lord Stevron, it is nice to see you in good health. I wish we could have met under better circumstances, however.”

“I do as well, but I am thankful for the aid that was given to my family. I understand that it must have been a difficult decision for you and Harlon.”

“Nonsense,” Harlon scoffed. “You are family and what happened here is atrocity. I would have come here even if I didn't have permission. I probably would have lost Moat Cailin but, I could live with that.”

“Still,” Stevron insisted. “All of you are in even greater jeopardy now. I don't see Robert Baratheon being able to ignore this.”

“He won't and I doubt that his response will be anything other harsh. But to be honest, my lord, I just don't care. That boy is not fit to be king, I know this in my heart and in my soul. I suspect that is the reason why Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully did not discuss putting him on the throne with me. They knew that I wouldn't approve.”

“I don't think anyone with a brain would to be frank. I met the man a handful of times and as awe inspiring as his fighting prowess is, he's still a heavy drinker and a whore at that. Both of those things are their own kind of madness.”

“Refusal to call your king by his title? Naming him a drunken whore? If I didn't know any better I would say that you were committing treason my lord.”

“Robert Baratheon is no king of mine!” Stevron snarled his declaration at Ser Brynden. “I will not pledge my support and my family to that fucker and the cunt Lions that surround him!” He panted slightly. “Forgive me Ser Brynden I did not-”

“Peace,” Ser Brynden held up a hand. “You meant no harm and I hope that you know that I did not mean anything with my words.”

Stevron just nodded his head, face flushed from his outburst.

“What are your plans now my lord?” His uncle asked his good brother.

“I will remain here at the Twins with whatever strength we have left. My wife and our son will travel to the Moat with the rest of the family until it is safe to return. I hope that you may be able to spare some men to help me, Lord Stark.”

“Of course, just let me know how many so I can ask for some volunteers.”

“It may be quite a lot, Lord Stark,” Stevron warned. “I need to replenish the numbers at the Twins, but also that of Hag's Mire and Cross Hall on the Western Bank and Helen's Claw on the Eastern Bank. The Lannisters,” He paused and closed his eyes in grief.

“They were smart. They Destroyed the Nayland's at Hag's Mire before turning their attention on the Flynn's at Cross Hall. Helen's Claw was falling into disrepair so taking it was easy for them to take it from the small Garrison we had there. That was supposed to be my brother Olyvar's stronghold for when he came of age.”

He started crying and placed his head in his hands.

“Forgive me,” He sniffled after an awkward silence, wiping away his tears angrily. “It is unbecoming -”

“Piss on that Stevron,” Harlon chided him. “It is okay to grieve.”

“But not now, I need to rebuild,” He gave Harlon a glare to stop him from speaking before turning his gaze to lord Rickard. He took a knee and drew the dagger that he was outfitted with after he was rescued. He cut into his hand and let the blood trickle down into the ground. “I pledge myself and my house to you Lord Stark. When I looked out of the windows of my home, the South was littered with enemies from the West and the Crownlands. And from my fellow countrymen, which, suffice to say, left me heartbroken.

“I can understand that my fellow River Lords had to play along for your plan to work but I cannot shake the image of them siding with the Lannisters and all the comments about my family. I just can't. I know my father was not the most popular of men but he didn't need to die and not in his own home. I can almost guarantee, that no one outside of my family will miss him and some have probably celebrated the fact.

“I know how valuable my home is strategically, I heard it all the time during my captivity, and the number of male heirs to inherit it has dwindled down significantly. It wouldn't shock me if someone tried to ask me to marry my remaining sisters to them in the hopes of gaining the Twins in some fashion. It will not happen, I won't allow it. So to protect it, I name Harlon's line heirs to the Twins should something happen to any one of us. I ask you to formally recognize this as binding Lord Stark.”

“Are you absolutely sure? How do you know that I won't just abuse this pledge?”

“Because you would have already tried to after the ambush was over,” Stevron responded. “You would have called in the debt that my family owes you. But you haven't, you've instead offered more help or at least willing to lend more help. That doesn't strike me as someone who would suddenly demand compensation.”

Harlon wasn't sure if his good brother's reasons were foolproof but he could see the strategic merit of the Twins being sworn to the North. And it wasn't as if the whole of the Riverlands would pledge themselves to the North. A small part of it wouldn't hurt anyone except their enemies.

His uncle stared at Stevron, “Is this what you truly want?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You understand what you are doing and what may happen if you do so?”

“Yes my lord.” Stevron repeated more firmly.

“Then I, as the Warden of Winter, Iron, and Sisters, do welcome you and your family, into our protection.” He pulled Stevron to his feet. “Welcome, to the North.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title Rickard uses at the end there is the full official title that he has in this story but its usually just shortened. And it may seem odd that the Twins are now apart of the North but *shrugs* it made sense to me.


	23. Mess

**Lord Varys, the Great Hall of the Red Keep**

What a mess, He thought with some delight. King Robert hadn't even let the trembling messenger finish what he was supposed to say before he picked up his war hammer and squashed the boys head like a melon. The Hand of the King was horrified by the brutality of it.

“Robert, calm yourself!” Jon Arryn had to dodge an errant swing when the king turned to abruptly in his direction. “That was your squire! That was one of Lord Selwy-”

“I don't care!” Robert Baratheon roared. “We had the numbers! We had the advantage, how did we lose?!”

If only the poison he had slipped the bull of a man would kick in, he thought with an internal frown. The poison wouldn't kill him, or at least it wasn't meant to, but if it didn't work soon, it just might.

“I know not, your grace,” Lord Arryn responded. “Reports vary but the consensus was that the Northern forces are allied with Dorne and the Riverlands. For this instance at least.”

“And what about the fucking fleets?!” Robert spat. “We should have made landfall by now.”

“I haven't heard anything, your grace.” Varys finally spoke then. It was a lie of course, the Braavosi fleet had joined that of the Merman Fleet of White Harbor and the Stone Sails of Skagos to crush the eastern invasion. If any of them made it out, the Lyseni Fleet would catch them. Or not, it didn't matter really.

He had learned the North had reconnected with the Children of the Forrest before he lost his spies there. But that didn't mean that they knew everything about what went on here and they needed a friendly hand to help when they needed it.

Varys had been more than happy to provide that hand. He may have thought that Prince Rhaegar's foolishness would have done the realms in, and it nearly did. But King Aerys had not seen fit to listen to him when it came to disinheriting his wayward son. So, Princess Visenya was a claimant to the Throne because of it, just like her aunt and uncle who still lived along with their mother. If Varys' plan worked here and now, his second plan could go into effect.

“And what of you, you old cunt, have you anything useful to add?” Robert snarled at Lady Olenna, who merely shrugged even as her guard bristled at the way she addressed.

“I haven't heard a peep out of my nephew but perhaps they had gained some ground on the Western front.”

Another lie, he knew. Lady Olenna had ordered Paxter Redwyne to assist the Iron Born Ships in destroying the Lion Fleet. He suspected that they would be sunken wrecks by now.

The King roared and swung his hammer at one of the dining tables. It cracked under the force of the blow. He swung again and it shattered this time. Robert panted with exhaustion before he gripped his chest and dropped his hammer.

“Jon,” He said weakly, stumbling forward. One of the royal guards caught him before he hit the floor.

“Call the Maester!” Lord Arryn shouted as he moved to help his former ward.

* * *

 

**Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Red Keep**

“Well that was very dramatic wasn't it,” The Eunuch kept his face blank as she spoke. “It took your poison long enough to work.”

He shrugged at her halfhearted accusation, “King Robert is a large man, and I only used a small dose. And I'm afraid that my talents don't lie in the practice of medicine.”

She harrumphed, “Still if it had worked later than it did, you and I could have ended up like the squire, melon head and all.”

“And we couldn't have that now could we? Shame about little Jacob Tarth. He was Lord Selwyn's only living son. I doubt he will be pleased.”

No, he wouldn't, Olenna thought to herself, feeling a bit of pity for the man, not that it would do him any good but still. Tarth was a small and lush island, but it was the sheath of the dagger known only as Ship Breaker Bay, and the house of Tarth knew how to navigate through it. With the right words and incentive, House Tarth could be persuaded to let anyone into that part of the Storm Lands. Something to think on for another time, she reflected.

“So now both the King and Queen have fallen ill, I wonder which one will survive first.”

“Only the King will live, if you can even call what he'll be like living.” Varys murmured. “He'll be nothing more than a human vegetable so little Durran Baratheon will be without both parents.”

Tywin's cunt of a daughter had grown sick after she had given birth, no thanks in part to her. The woman was bed ridden, had been for a few moons now. Pycelle suspected her of the deed, but he wouldn't be able to prove it and she doubted that he could prove that Varys had poisoned the King. His little show of weakness was easy to see through, just Like Varys' show of sadness was easy to see through.

He delighted in the fact that both royals were now basically rendered useless. She knew that he was fond of Princess Elia and her children. His actions now showed that.

“Do you honestly think this will convince Lord Arryn to sue for peace?” She really doubted it. The old man was just as scared of the young Northern Dragon as his foster son was. There was no way that he would just let this go.

“At the very least, Jon Arryn will have to meet with Rickard Stark. Whatever they decide to do is up to them. I trust that Lord Tywin will be able to travel to Dorne unmolested?”

“Of course and the men I hired to guide them through the Reach will make sure that my idiot son doesn't find out,” She shook her head in exasperation. “I should have had that boy whipped more often. Maybe he would have something akin to brains at the moment.”

“From what I understand, the male Tyrell's have always been...soft headed shall we say.”

“Understatement of the damn century,” She muttered, taking a sip from her wine. “So then, which dragon are you going to support, the Northern one, the two that fled with their mother, or the little Stag that doesn't have enough dragon blood to grow scales at this point?”

“I will support whomever is best for the realms,” Varys replied. “The continent has seen enough war to last a lifetime. We don't need anymore.”

“So you won't be supporting those black dragons then, Brightflame?” He looked at, startled. That was the most expressive he had ever been and she snorted. “It wasn't that difficult to find out, you know.”

He said nothing at first, “If any of the Lyseni dragons prove to be the best option, then yes I will support them. But I think the only way that this will happen is if they are considered by a Great Council.”

“They all need to be considered by a Great Council. Frankly, the Mad Kings remaining children have the best chance of getting it at this point.” Mainly because they are the least 'offensive' options, she added in her mind. The Baratheon whelp would almost immediately dismissed because he was the son of a Usurper, one whose entire campaign had been partially based on a misunderstanding.

Visenya Targaryen was a part of that misunderstanding and that would definitely not be a point in her favor. Then there was the fact that she was being raised in the North. And while Olenna knew that the North produced some hearty warriors, their ways were considered too strange and out dated.

“Prince Viserys has the best chance really, since he is the only male Targaryen left. Mayhaps Princess Visenya will be chosen but that seems unlikely. Same with young Daenerys.”

Because of the first Great Council, she knew. They had decided that the male line took precedence over the female line even if said female was descended from the older male. It wouldn't matter if Visenya was Rhaegar's daughter, she may be dismissed altogether.

“At least the North will come back into the fold if one of the Dragon's are chosen,” Varys continued. “Lord Stark will honor the pact his ancestor made.”

“Until he's given a reason not too,” Olenna countered. “I can easily see himself raising the defense of his lands, which now includes all of the Frey Lands as you said earlier in the council meeting.” What the hell had that foolish boy been thinking in letting them go? She thought with exasperation at the actions of the Tully heir. Already he had proven to be a bit of an idiot by letting that happen.

“Say that little Viserys is crowned king, and the Starks swear their fealty as they are expected to do. What if Viserys demands more than he can actually demand. Like the hand of Visenya or that she should live here in the Capitol, or better yet, her head on a pike? What do you think Lord Stark is going to do then hmm? The man went to war because his son was attacked and his daughter had been kidnapped or so he was told.”

“Now he has fought to make sure that his granddaughter is safe and I doubt he would send her anywhere South of the Twins, not even if she demanded it. And not even if a marriage to one of the Southern sons was in her best interests.”

Which is a damn shame really, she would have made a great match for Willas, She grumbled in her mind. Or if she wanted to keep her name, Garlan or Loras could have been made into a consort of some kind but it wouldn't happen she knew.

Lord Rickard had made many Southern friends in his youth, both high and low born alike. Now enough of them were dead or had betrayed his friendship in some fashion. The South had turned its back on him and now he was turning his back on them. What a gods be damned mess this is.

“I'm sure that Lord Rickard could be persuaded to see reason,” Varys replied though he seemed to do so reluctantly. It would have been better if he kept his mouth shut but at least he didn't have cheese in his ears like most men did. He understood that the situation wasn't as simple as people seemed to think.

“Politically, the best option is Viserys. He is young enough to be molded into whatever he needs to be, he could easily be brought here to the capitol, and since people find it important, he has a cock as well. The smart choice is Visenya, she is the sole surviving child of the eldest son, she's even younger than Viserys and she would bring the North with her and all its benefits. We need those benefits to truly heal the Seven Kingdoms.”

Varys said nothing, he just sipped his wine. After a moment he spoke again, “Then let us hope that a smart decision can be reached.”

“I think you are asking a little too much of the Nobles that dwell here. They aren't always the smartest lot to deal with. You should know by now that, Ser Brightflame.”

“I am not a Knight my lady.”

“You're not a Lord either,”Olenna said dismissively. “Now if you don't mind, us older people need more rest than you young ones do, so if you don't mind...?”

She trailed off and he simply nodded his head, “Of course my lady.” He seemed neither insulted by her lack of address for him or even the dismissal she had made. He just quietly left and she sighed after he did, thinking about the challenges that lay ahead.

What a gods be damned mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes so Varys does have a name in this story. Its Varys Brightflame, he's a descendant of a bastard child of Aerion Targaryen, who was known as the Brightflame. The next chapter will be about the meeting between Jon Arryn and Rickard Stark.
> 
> It might be a short one, the shortest in fact, because its mainly going to be about them. The chapter after that will feature a huge time skip, almost sixteen years in fact. I haven't decided on the exact number but know that it will be over ten years at the least.
> 
> Also, please go check out the second part of this series, to read a history and lore about the newly established house Frost of Moat Cailin. Shameless plug I know but hopefully you enjoy that and this chapter.


	24. Falcon V. Wolf

**Lord Rickard Stark, outside of Riverrun, the fifteenth day of the sixth month of 284 AC**

Perhaps he should have denied Ned's request to be here, He thought. His son looked uncomfortable at having to face his foster father but he had insisted. He wanted to be here, to know if Jon Arryn had truly been involved in the attempts on Visenya's life.

Both knew that it was a very likely scenario, but Rickard's heir wanted to hope that there was still an honorable man in the Lord of the Eyrie. As High as Honor were their house words for fucks sake, was it difficult to assume that they could be anything other than honorable?

That folly was not Jon Arryn's fault, it was his. He had learned to navigate through the treacherous waters of Southron politics. Brandon, when he bothered to listen, only knew the basics of it. Ned and Benjen were not his immediate heirs so they didn't need to learn what he did. And Lyanna...

He sighed to himself. He indulged her too much, he knew, but she had earned her Denship with pride and lived up to her title of Dame. And when it came time for her to marry, she had her concerns but he brushed that off as her just being nervous.

His pride only went so far and he was not too proud to admit that he had failed his children. Now he had the chance to make it up to his three living sons and his daughters child. He wouldn't fail.

The riders from the Vale approached, and he looked over who he brought with him. Brynden Blackfish had come to represent his nephew who was too young and too valuable to take part in this meeting. Next to him, under the banner of three white owls on green, was Ser Raymond Stone, or Ray the Septon as he was often teased. And if one felt particularly vindictive, you could call him Ray the Faithless.

Rickard felt sorry for this man, as he had felt sorry for all of those who were affected by what happened. His wife and their two daughters had nearly been killed when the Lannisters started raiding the Riverlands. And he had picked up a sword for the first time in a long time, to defend them.

One of the River Lords who were in on the plan had gotten them into contact with Brynden who asked Rickard about getting them some place safe. So he did the only thing he could do that hopefully made up for what happened, he gave them some land near the Tumbledown Tower for him to build a proper home for his family. Rickard already had builders working on a small keep at the moment.

Ser Raymond had tried to refuse at first, not out of resentment and such but because he didn't think it was necessary. He didn't blame Rickard for what happened as he hadn't ordered those men to do what they did. Still, Rickard insisted and Brynden had insisted, before Ser Raymond had reluctantly accepted and sworn his oaths.

One to Brynden as part of the land he was living on belonged to him originally. Another to Locke as his liege Lord since those lands would have gone to him as lord of Brier Wood Keep. And one last one to Rickard as his Overlord. So Ser Raymond became the head of another Knightly Northern House and was outfitted with Northern Mail and armor.

The reason he was here was because he wanted to hear what his former Overlord had to say.

“His lords asked us to burn down our enemies homes or ships. Fine, we were their arsonists,” Ray had said quietly when he volunteered to join them. “They asked us to kill their sons so they couldn't take up arms against us. Fine, we were their killers. Low born boys didn't have much choice during the days of war and after my last one, I grew tired of it."

"I didn't fight in the Rebellion and maybe that makes me a coward, but I had a family now, I couldn't just pick up a sword again. But then they came and my wife screamed as they tore down the door of our hut. My daughters cried and I was reminded of all the sins I committed when I fought for the Vale in that instant.”

“If Lord Arryn was complicit in the destruction of the Riverlands, I want to know. I need to know, for my own peace of mind.”

His horse nickered in irritation as the riders opposite them slowed to a trot. He patted its neck soothingly and it calmed. He eyed his former friend and tried his best to not glare at him.

“Lord Arryn.” Propriety had to be followed even if their relationship had soured.

“Lord Stark,” Jon Arryn surveyed the man beside Rickard, pausing briefly over Eddard. “I see no delegation from the Riverlands.”

“I am sitting in my nephews place and I will give him my report of what happened here,” The Blackfish spoke roughly, as was his way. “The River Lords are guarding their liege and Edmure asked me to attend.”

Lord Arryn nodded his head, “Is there no delegation from Dorne?”

“They departed after the ambush,” Rickard admitted. “They got what they wanted, and took their leave.”

And he had opened talks with their Prince about fostering or even having his son and niece married to one of Rickard's grandchildren. He would consider the fostering but the marriage talks would be put on hold. He had already made that mistake with his daughter, he wouldn't repeat it again.

“And what did they want?” Jon Arryn gave him a look of contempt and a bit of weariness. It was then that Rickard saw how tired his old friend looked.

“What do you think they wanted?” Rickard asked back. “The man who murdered their beloved princess and her children was here. The man who ordered it was here. Now they are long gone, beyond the reach of us both.”

“You allowed a Lord Paramount to be taken hostage?”

“That man over stepped his boundaries,” Rickard growled at his incredulous counterpart. “He had no right in doing anything he has done since the end of the War. I don't care who authorized it, I do not recognize their authority.”

“Whether you recognize it or not is irrelevant, other people did, myself included. None of this would have happened if you had just spoken to me or anyone, about your granddaughter.”

“What was there to discuss? Whether or not she should be wrapped in Arryn cloaks instead of Lannister ones when she was killed? Oh don't give me that look, when you got into bed with Tywin Lannister and plotted to kill my daughter's child, you became an enemy of my house. I have little tolerance for you right now, be grateful that I am even talking to you at the moment and not killing you.”

Edwyle, his father, had told him as a child that bluntness was only semi appreciated in the South, mainly from those who were too old and were considered insufferable. If a younger person, say a lord or his heir had acted in such a fashion, they would have been dismissed by the Southern courts as belligerent idiots and the word would spread throughout the Kingdoms. Many a lord and their house had been shamed in such a way and it had taken time for them to recover.

Right now Rickard didn't care about his fathers lessons, too much had happened for him to do so.

“Your granddaughter is a threat -”

“So its true,” Eddard snarled out, tears starting to form in his eyes. His heart broke for his son in that moment but he kept silent for now. “You tried to kill the last piece of my sister that was left here on this earth.”

“Ned -”

“No!” Eddard snarled again, tears falling down his cheeks. “You had no right Jon, no right at all.” He took hold of his reins and urged his horse away. Jon Arryn watched him go, grief etched into his features.

“You chastise me for not telling you about Visenya,” Rickard began after a moment of awkward silence. “But do not forget that you didn't tell me about your plan to crown Robert as King.”

Jon Arryn clenched his jaw, “You wouldn't have approved of it.”

“I wouldn't have and I don't,” Rickard admitted. “And you would have killed a child to keep him on that chair.”

“I tried but I suppose that doesn't matter now,” Lord Arryn replied bitterly. Rickard knew that Robert still drew breath, but his mind was non responsive and it was hard to say if he would ever be able to take care of himself, never mind Seven Kingdoms.

“It matters to me,” Rickard snapped back. “Did you think that I wouldn't do everything in my power to protect Visenya or avenge her if I needed to?”

“And you thought that we would have done nothing when we found out?” Jon demanded. “The Targaryens have no right to rule anymore -”

“That will be for a Great Council to decide.” Rickard spoke over him. “Neither of us have any right to say that they do or don't.”

“No council will pick your grandchild to rule over them and you won't even be picked as regent because of what's happened since this all came out.” There were other reasons of course, but they were too numerous to name and discuss at the moment.

“And you think that a usurpers spawn is going to become King with you as regent? You were complicit in the destruction of these lands and didn't even try and punish those who committed crimes during the Sack of the Capitol. Your chances of winning are just as tainted as mine, old friend.”

Jon scowled at him but didn't bother to deny what he said. He still had some brains left in his old age it seemed.

“Reparations will need to be made to the Riverlands.” Rickard nodded at The Blackfish. “As long as you claim to be the King's Hand, you must deal with the problems of the Kingdoms in his stead.”

“You can start by getting the fuck out of here,” Ser Brynden said bluntly. “And if you can, leave some of your supplies behind for those that were affected by what happened, mainly the common folk.”

Jon didn't protest, he clenched his jaw and nodded his consent.

“And you can tell Ser Kevan Lannister that his two brothers are going to be in the custody of Lord Lann,” Rickard added. “Should they perish before they reach him, their bones will be sent to Casterly Rock. And should any of those transporting them be responsible, they will be sent there as well.”

None of Jon's men looked like they believed him, but still, Jon didn't protest.

“And what assurances do we have that none of you will encroach on any of our territories?”

It was a fair question to ask, “Stop sending assassins after my grandchild, and those who pledged their banners to me will stay their hand.” It was all he could offer to his counterpart.

“And when would this Great Council take place.”

“Don't rightly know,” Rickard shrugged. “But I expect to be informed of it. I will not have my granddaughter cheated out of the chance to make her case before such a council. If I may make a suggestion?” Jon dipped his head for him to continue. “You should let Robert's boy hold Storms End for now and let the Targaryen Prince hold Dragonstone. Let them both prove themselves as rulers. Besides, the Baratheon's have no claim to Dragonstone.”

Jon considered the idea for a moment, “The idea has merit but how would your granddaughter prove herself? What do you plan to do for her?”

“She'll have her own keep regardless of whether or not she becomes Queen. I should warn you Jon, that nothing less than a Dragon on the Throne will see us join the Kingdoms again. I will not bend my knee to anything less.”

Jon nodded stiffly, “And I will fight for Prince Durran's right to rule.” He paused for a moment. “This wasn't supposed to happen like this.”

“And how was it supposed to happen? Was I supposed to bend my knee to Robert and pretend that my family didn't swear our oaths to the Dragons? That I would ignore the oath I swore on my daughters dying breath to protect her child? What kind of man do you take me for Jon?”

“I don't know,” Jon murmured, sounding sad. “It just wasn't supposed to be like this.” He sighed and straightened in his saddle.

“I will withdraw whatever forces that remain in these lands. If any remain behind, they are hereby disavowed by the Crown and their punishments can be carried out by the lords of these lands without fear of reprisals from the Crown. That's the best I can offer you at the moment.” He told Ser Brynden who just nodded his head.

Jon turned back to him and opened his mouth before closing it again and shaking his head. He gestured for his men to follow his lead and lead them away.

“He was a good man once,” Rickard said after they left.

“Tell that to the people who are still recovering, my lord.”

He gave Ser Raymond a side eye, “I said he was a good man, not that he is one. Nothing I say will make up for what has happened. Now come, we have to tell the other lords what happened here.”

* * *

**Sigil for Ser Raymond which will become his house sigil. Name of the House and their keep will be revealed later.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? Good? Bad? Remember that the next one has time jump. Don't know when it will be up though. Oh and Denship is just basically a female Knighthood which is sometimes just called Den or Denhood. The title for a female knight in this story is Dame.


	25. Twenty Years I

**Ser Markus Ryden, the lands of House Blackwood, 304 AC**

“Kill the Heretics!”

“Fuck you Zealot!”

All around him men and women shouted and screamed at one another. Weapons clashed and blood stained the ground. The man in him was resigned to such a thing as he was used to the carnage of battle.

The Stallion in him wished to charge into the fray and stomp on all his enemies. The Wolf in him wanted the blood of these fanatics, having tasted some of it already.

But the father in him had to see that the child he held was safe again so he ran to where his band of warriors had agreed to meet up to after wards. Only, his path was blocked by several 'knights' and the man who started this whole fucking thing.

“Give me the child,” The so called Sparrow said to him. He seemed calm, as if he hadn't a care in the world. And he probably didn't as some of his men surrounded Markus. “She needs to be cleansed.”

The girl, Zara, flinched in his arms and whimpered at the sound of the Sparrows voice. Markus narrowed his eyes under his Weirwood mask before casting them upwards.

“You cannot win here, you don't have the numbers,” The old man continued. “Your Heathen Gods did not seem fit to bless you with brains it seems. But the Seven have much to offer a young man such as yourself.”

“I don't worship statues old man,” Markus replied evenly. He smiled suddenly and whispered to the girl, “Do you want to try something fun?” She didn't have time to reply before he threw her as high as he could into the air. She screamed briefly in surprise as a person snatched her out of the air and took flight above the trees. Markus smiled at Jon's retreating figure and turned to the stunned opposition.

Markus drew the sword his grandfather gave him after he was knighted. It wasn't the sword his mother meant to give him, that one had gone to his namesake, Mark Ryswell. This one was forged from the Valyrian Arakh that once belonged to a sellsword that fought against the Northern rebellion and was combined with Northern Ore.

The materials shouldn't hold well, they were too different in nature but the Mountain Clans had wove in Northern Magicks to hold them together. The blade took on a strange bronze hue though it wasn't anywhere near as weak as bronze, for starters, it didn't melt when he set it alight.

“For Justice!” He cried, swinging his sword outwards and cutting a man down in one stroke. A normal sword could have done that anyway, for the zealot didn't bother to wear armor. But a normal sword couldn't cut a man in half like Honor could.

It was hardly an original name, he admitted to himself as he continued to cut down his enemies. But, he had named it after the Direwolf who fathered his own companion, Leaves, who had picked off these fanatics with gusto. And Honor was something that came to him easily, much like breathing.

Of course he wasn't ruled by it like some suspected that he might be despite his bastardy.

He cut a mace in half and opened its wielder from balls to throat, ignoring the blood that splattered on to him before moving on. The Sparrow himself merely looked on, probably thinking that Markus would be overwhelmed by his men. But the fire he summoned from within kept them at bay. His sword rendered them useless and more reinforcements came to their aid just like they planned.

And yet this old man seemed content, but Markus couldn't understand why. And then the old man removed something from his robes. It was a small clay vial, one that he recognized from his lessons about warfare and he charged forward as the Sparrow picked up a fallen torch.

Men were shot down in front of him by arrows, clearing his path even more. He ducked and weaved under blows that could have hindered him from his goal. He launched his sword at the old man but it was intercepted by another fanatic who sacrificed himself for his leader.

Blood flew through the air and landed on the old man who had a looked of madness in his eyes.

“Clear the area!” Markus shouted because he wasn't sure if his plan would work but he hoped it would.

“May The Seven save you all,” He heard the old man whisper as he smashed the vial against the torch. Green erupted in his palm just as Markus tackled him to the ground. He actually felt hot when he encountered the Wildfire but he started to absorb it as best as he could.

His leathers melted instantly, his mail followed after , his mask as well, and the heat was starting to become a bit much, even to him. The old man was dead in what he assumed was an instant, since he hadn't heard any screaming.

“By the gods of the sky, I will weather any storm that comes my way,” He coughed slightly from the smoke as he started to recite the oath that was used to knight him. “By the gods of the sea, I will defend the shores of my -”

Whatever he said next was lost in a swirl of water.

* * *

**Dame Meera Vorian**

She held the water as best as she could but it wasn't easy. Drinking water could be contained easily, river water not so much, and the less said about the Sea, the better.

“If my husband drowns, you will die.”

Meera gritted her teeth and ignored her fellow Herald and concentrated on holding the large ball of water upright.

“Leave her be,” Her husband murmured quietly, probably in the hopes that she wouldn't hear him.

“I stand by what I said.” Obara snarled back. “If he dies before I can throttle him for his stupidity...”

She trailed off and Meera felt herself start to smile. While Obara was not born a northerner, she had the same spirit as one. If she hadn't known any better, she may have mistaken her for a woman of Bear Island or a woman from far North.

She curled her left hand to shift her false current which spat Markus out of the ball. He was cradling the burnt remains of the Sparrow who started this nonsense so long ago. He coughed and sputtered, tossing the body away.

“My thanks for the bath Meera,” He gave her a slight grin, one he shared with his father. “Did we win?”

“Aye, we won.” Her husband answered with a grin of his own as Meera flung the ball of water as high as she could into the sky. She pulled the water back and the little flame that was left faded into nothingness as it was overwhelmed by the sudden influx of air.

Marcus sighed and laughed quietly. The men and women around them began to laugh as well before cheering was heard throughout the area.

“It's fucking over!” Markus roared over the crowd. He pulled his wife down to the ground when she stomped her way over to him. He gave her a hearty kiss on the lips and she grabbed the back of his head to deepen it.

“Please tell me that they're not going to fuck on the forest floor?” A voice said from her side. It was Arya, who looked a little exasperated as she stared at the couple.

“Come my love, a religious war just ended after ten years, we can relax.” Her husband, Prince Quentyn Martell murmured, hugging her from behind.

“I'd just rather not tell my new niece or nephew that they were conceived next to a burnt body.” Though her tone was light her eyes held a certain amount of mischief.

“I'll tell your spawn every embarrassing story about you, even the one where you got stuck in the Weirwood tree in the Godswood and everyone saw your pale white arse,” Markus pointed a finger at her and gave her a stern glare. Arya flushed and made to to tell him off but he went back to kissing his wife and Arya just huffed.

“Prick,” She muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. One of the Raventree soldiers came up to them.

“We have one who surrendered,” He announced, looking excited. “His two brothers were apparently prisoners amongst these scum.”

“You seem a little too excited about that,” Arya snarked but the soldier continued on, not even bothered by her tone.

“He looks like a Baratheon,” He added, seemingly vibrating in place with excitement. The cheering that took place was replaced with silence, Meera noticed that Obara and Markus stopped what they were doing and made their way over. “I think he might be one of Robert Baratheon's bastard children but one of the other two might be his true borne son!”

Durran Baratheon was missing for sometime, almost as long as the 'Holy' war that had taken place these ten years past. It was assumed that he and his bastard siblings had perished. The prime suspect for the crime was Viserys Targaryen, the Lord of Dragonstone, since he had the most to benefit from it and since he was actively campaigning for his claim to the throne.

Meera thought it was a little too obvious for it to be him, but one could never know for sure. And while the Baratheon name was hardly respected any more, mainly due to the actions of the false King Robert, his children had committed no offense. They may be in need of aid at the moment.

“Find Ser Renly the Green and Dame Mya Stonegate if they are still alive,” Markus ordered one of their own soldiers. “Even if one of them is not Durran Baratheon, these men are still their family, and they will need to be informed. The rest of you, pack it up and make way for Raven Tree Hall!” He shouted and the Northern warriors did as they were bid.

“Lord Blackwood will have to be notified of this,” He notified the soldier grimly. “How badly did this supposed Baratheon child fight back.”

“He actually killed the scum he was supposed to fight with, I think he was waiting for an opportunity like this so he could see his brothers free. That's all he asked for, not that he was in a position to ask for anything, but his brothers...” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“They've seen better days. They have the eyes of a storm and they seem just as spirited, but they haven't had much of a proper meal it seems. He surrendered when he had our word that they would be treated well.”

“Does this man have a name?”

“He said it was Gendry.”

* * *

**Gendry Storm, Blackwood Camp**

He settled in place to calm himself and to make sure that the restraints he was in didn't chafe and cut into his skin. No one talked to him, but he received enough dirty looks which he supposed was fair. He had fought for their enemy, regardless of his reasons for doing so. Still, none of them had done him wrong though it was only a matter of time.

The sound of feet coming his way made him look up slowly. Two sets of blue eyes locked with his and he couldn't help but blink as they didn't belong to either of his brothers. One of them, a man, looked at him sadly. The other, a woman with cropped hair, looked at him with interest.

“Who the fuck are you?” He blurted out before he could stop himself. He did stop himself from flinching like he used to do as he was younger and when he expected to be hit. If those mad sparrows were still around they would have whipped him until he was bloody for what he said.

The man laughed quietly, “I am your uncle Renly, boy.” He said calmly. “And this is your sister, Mya.”

He had heard of his older sister and uncles from Ser Cortnay Penrose, the Castellan that had begun to teach him in the art of warfare before he had died during a hunt. Or at least that was the story when his body had been returned and they were besieged when the gates were left open by a traitor to admit those that brought the loyal knight back.

It had been hell for he and his brothers since then. Childish resentment bubbled up in his chest but he managed to temper it though only just.

“You both seem healthy,” He said flatly, coldly. So maybe he didn't stop it entirely but at least he stopped himself from shouting. To their credit, both his sister and his uncle did not flinch at what he said.

“We'll make sure that you'll be given fair treatment -”

“I'm a war criminal,” Gendry interrupted his uncle. “I'm going to pay for the crimes I committed, never you mind about my treatment, see to it that my brothers live to see their next namedays. Durran is the future of our fathers house and Edric is his heir until such a time that he has children himself.”

Again, he spoke the words coldly and flatly, expecting them to yield the result that he wanted. He was disappointed.

“We'll do no such thing,” His sister replied firmly. “You will receive fair treatment and a fair trial - “

“Are the Lady these your lands, sister?” He snarled at her. “Are you one of these nobles who claim to own every single rock and patch of dirt that their ancestors shit on and claimed for themselves? Lord Blackwood is the one who will decide my fate. Just do as I say, and make sure that my brothers survive, or these chains will become my instruments of vengeance.” He shook them and they rattled slightly.

“Just go,” This time he sounded tired. “If you actually want to be useful, take care of them. I won't be able to do so any longer.” He turned his head away from them, not wanting to speak anymore. They left him after a moment and he settled himself again as his heart hammered in his chest.

As long as they survive, my death will be worth it, He thought to himself. My brothers will finally be free, and that is all that matters.

He repeated the words like a prayer, even though he stopped believing in any gods long ago. But if there was something he believed in, it was his brothers and the good they could do in this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't freakout, there will be explanations to come. Basically, this is the phase two of this story and like phase one, we are put into the ending of a conflict and we will see things through the eyes of the characters. Of course, there will be new POVS as well as old ones, but hopefully it won't be too confusing. More Sigils and house names are on the way as well.
> 
> I do hope that all of you enjoyed this chapter and those of you who commented on the second part of this series, thank you again and I hope you all check out the recent addition to that story.
> 
> Oh, and if there is anyone in the US reading this, Happy Thanksgiving! To everyone else, I hope you have a good week and if your week has you feeling down, I hope it gets better.


	26. Twenty Years II

**Princess Visenya Targaryen, the Stone Dragon on the Stony Shore**

She placed her son in his cot as he began to fall asleep. Her son whined at not being in her arms but she gently rubbed his belly to calm him. She then began to sing.

“Land of wolf and land of snowfall,

Land that gave us birth and blessings,

Land that calls us ever homewards,

We will go home across the Causeway,

We will go home, we will go home,

We will go home across the Causeway,

We will go home, we will go home,

We will go home across the Causeway.”

Osric had fallen asleep before she reached the second verse of the song the old First Men sang when the Andals came to the continent and many fled North or elsewhere. She kissed three of her fingers and placed them on his cheek. Sleep well my darling, She thought then padded her way out of the room and closed the door quietly.

She pressed her head against the door and sighed, reveling in the peace she felt right now. She took a deep breath and straightened her posture. Now it was time to go to work. She pushed off the door and walked down the hall at a brisk pace. She met her husbands eyes as he lifted his head to greet her.

“Aly and Baelor are safe?” She asked sharply, lips pursed in displeasure.

“Yes,” Sigorn replied stoically. “Both of them are guarded by those we can trust.” He handed her the sword that her Great Uncle Aemon gifted to her when she earned her Denship.

“Then take me to the cunt that tried to murder our children.” And tried to poison my dragon, she added in her mind as she tied her sword to her waist.

She left that part unsaid because she knew that while her husband would not demand that she get rid of Smoke Ring, he did not like it when she spoke of her dragon as if he were one of her children. He thought it strange and too...mad like.

Sigorn didn't ask for much and he had lost enough in life so he granted him this. Still, it didn't stop her form thinking it.

* * *

  **Ser Sigorn Thenn, the dungeons of the Stone Dragon**

Their prisoner looked absolutely pitiful. Physically at least. His eyes were ever defiant as he stared at Visenya.

“The traitors daughter,” He spat at Visenya's feet. She responded by hurling a small stone at him with great speed and strength. The scariest part was that she did it without lifting a finger. The stone pierced through the flesh of the vermin's shoulder and he howled in agony.

“Lets make one thing perfectly clear, you will speak when I address you, and not a moment before. Do you understand?”

“Fuck you-aaahhh!”

“I said do you understand?” Visenya asked quietly over the screams. “I will not ask you again.”

“Yes you dragon slut I understand!” Their captive screamed again and looked at her in fear. Do you see father, he thought wistfully. My wife has a fire in her that had I seen from the moment I laid eyes on her. If only you weren't so blind.

He missed his family, but they were fools who were too stubborn to see that Visenya was more than just a Dragon, she was a Wolf too. Dragons inspired fear in any man but it was the She-wolf that people respected. His father had not bothered to respect that and now they were in this shit.

“Why did my good father send you here? And don't bother denying it, you may not have the facial tattoos like my husband and his house do but we found other markings on your body. Not to mention that my husband recognizes you.”

“Your father was one of the villagers who used to to trade with the servants of the castle. You and I played together once. Under better circumstances, I might have welcomed you here, Jarl.”

“Fuck you and your welc-ugh!” Jarl grunted in pain.

“Answer my question.” His wife was still calm on the surface but he could tell that her patience was wearing thin.

“He wanted you to die, he thinks you bewitched his son. I know better of course.” Here he glared at Sigorn. “When I was finished with your brats and your bitch, you were next.”

Sigorn scoffed at the words, “Visenya and I have been married for years, we have three children, and my father wanted nothing to do with me. Why did he only do this now?”

“Because Lord Rickard is no longer in control and you didn't have the Stark bastards here to protect your whore wife.” Jarl yelped then screamed again as Visenya flexed her fingers.

“Do I look like I need protection?” She snarled at their captive and then looked to the side. “Do you have what you need uncle?”

The empty space in the corner shimmered like a desert mirage. When it stopped shimmering, three men stood in the formally empty space.

“I do my lady,” Lord Eddard Stark rumbled, addressing Visenya with the proper respect. “You have my word that Lord Styr will pay for what has happened here.” He didn't bother to look at the prisoner, as if he were beneath him. His sons, Ser Robb the Heir and his brother Ser Edmund or 'Young Ned' as he was often called, glared at Jarl intently but made no moves to attack him. Jarl turned pale but he didn't shrink away from them.

Sigorn fought a grimace as he thought of how Jonothor and Markus would react to this had they been here. He remembered quite well how they treated would be assassins of Visenya and their shared grandfather Rickard. Jonothor or Jon as he preferred, was the most frightening of the two in terms of pure skill with a blade. Many often joked that it was his Dayne heritage that came into play when you put one or two swords in his hands. It was almost poetic, the way he made the blades sing and dance across the bodies of his foes. The ones he hadn't taken for a ride around the skies at least.

Markus was predictable in comparison but no less deadly. His fire ran hotter than his fathers and unlike his father, he could shoot fire from his hands. If it was a constant stream of fire then he could only shoot it so far but his fireballs...Sigorn suppressed a shudder. Even if Markus missed by a wide margin he could just make the fire spread to catch his target.

Thankfully neither of them were sadistic and for the most part, they were jovial men. But Sigorn couldn't shake the image of Markus setting several men alight at the age of six or Jon opening the throats of several others around the same time.

“No one hurts my family.” Markus had declared and Jon echoed the statement as they stared at the bodies of the sellswords from the Winter Rose. The damn fools thought they could kill the Northern Overlord and his granddaughter and be welcomed like heroes. Two bastard boys showed them their folly.

It was said that bastards matured more quickly than their true borne counterparts. Looking into the eyes of his wife’s cousins all those years ago, Sigorn knew that statement to be true.

“Then in the name of House Stark, the true rulers of the North,” His wife began, drawing Truth from its scabbard. The Valyrian blade rang when she pulled it free. “I sentence you to death for the attempted murder of myself and my children. Have you any last words?” She asked Jarl who opened his mouth.

Visenya practically glided across the floor and shoved the sword through Jarl's mouth and out the other side. Jarl choked and looked up in surprise.

“You can speak your words to the devils in whatever hell exists. I have no interest in hearing them.” She yanked the blade out and it scraped against the bone as she did so. She lopped off the top of his head in one clean stroke and held the sword in front of her, letting the blood drip on to the floor.

“I know you prefer to let them speak their last words uncle but he tried to kill my children, I had barely little patience as it was.” She told her uncle flatly.

Lord Eddard inclined his head, “You looked him in the eyes and got him to confess. That's all that matters.”

There was a slight sag to his wife's shoulders. She had insulted and disdained enough lords as she grew into her own, but the older Stark men were very dear to her heart. Their approval meant a lot to her.

“I must ride through the passage you have here to get to Winterfell. Robb come with me, Edmund stay here and help your cousin.” Lord Eddard grasped Visenya by the shoulders. “I want you to stay here while we sort this out. I will tell you when a decision has been made.”

“Just make sure it is after Sansa's wedding,” Visenya murmured. “She's been waiting to exchange her vows long enough.”

Lord Eddard gave her half a smile and kissed her forehead. He shook hands with Sigorn before leaving. Robb came up to her and kissed her cheek.

“Don't tell our cousins about this until their own children are with them,” Robb advised her. “They won't act too rashly if you do.”

“What would I ever do without you, little cousin?” Visenya sarcastically but with a smile on her lips. She already knew of ways to deal with her cousins but she was grateful for the distraction.

“I honestly don't know, you rely on me too much to function on your own.”

The quip earned him a light slap to the arm and a laugh. Robb grinned and kissed her forehead like his father did and shook Sigorn's hand. After he left, Visenya sighed.

“I need to see my children.”

* * *

 

**Ser Edmund Stark, the Dragon's Solar**

Edmund stood to the side, smiling slightly as Visenya's older children badgered her with questions too quick for her to form a proper response to. And in a semi aggressive and impetuous way. It was only fair that her children would be just as wolf blooded as she, the gods like to play their games after all.

He stood quietly in the corner, as he usually did. No one noticed him, just as he liked it. He could never tell if it was because no one found him interesting, or if it was his gift. Either way he preferred it like this so he could observe.

Visenya was rather harried but smiling none the less. Her children were safe and healthy and completely ignorant of the danger that almost occurred. Her husband was quiet save for the times his children made him laugh. When he came to foster with the Starks, he had been stoic and didn't laugh. Visenya had been the one to break that shell of his and they had fallen in love, something that had earned the disdain of many.

The other occupants in the room were just as fascinating to him as his cousin and her family. There was Daenerys, her aunt who had been disgraced and disowned by her brother when her secret marriage had been discovered. The one who stood next to her and her brood was her husband, Ser Aurane Waters. The Driftwood Knight they called him or the bastard of Driftmark if they felt a certain way about him.

He was handsome as most Valyrians were. Despite that however, he had the letter R branded into his right cheek which marred his appearance somewhat. He had gained that brand when he was accused of rape by Prince Viserys Targaryen, who thought that his sister would have never lain with someone below her station.

Their three children practically mirrored Visenya's own, but unlike them, they did not bare the name Targaryen or the title of prince or princess. Driftwood was their name and the oldest boy, Maekar, would inherit their castle of Driftmark Keep just like Prince Baelor would inherit the Stone Dragon.

Off in another corner was Missendei of Naath. She had come into the service of the Northern Targaryen house thanks to the former Queen Rhaella. She wanted her granddaughter to have a companion outside of the ones in the North who also spoke Valyrian fluently. And while the old queen had made visits here and there, they were few and far between due to the distance and her helping in the running of Dragonstone.

Missendei was a loyal woman, beautiful too. Her beauty had caught the eye of both Markus and his wife, which resulted in her sharing their bed often enough. It also resulted in the three year old that she carried. Marssador, or Mars as his siblings called him, was a shy boy which was understandable as he was still a child. Some people took it strangely though, mainly due to the fact that Markus was hardly shy about anything. Even as a boy he would run naked around the castle as several people chased him, laughing and shrieking in delight.

“Stop hiding Edmund,” Visenya said sternly. He blinked and in that blink they all started staring at him.

“I wasn't hiding,” He replied. “I was thinking.” The children in the room ran to him, save for Mars and the babe in Aurane's arms. They started to badger him now and he did his best to answer while speaking with his cousin. It was easy since the only one he was answering was Alysanne. She was the only one that asked sensible questions at the moment.

“I was thinking about the wedding,” He lied smoothly, grateful that neither his brother nor father were here. His father would know he lied immediately and his brother would see inside his head. They were difficult to be around sometimes, especially in a more political setting.

“Despite his blood – no Aly I have no plans to get married – Domeric is a good man and my twin will be happy.”

“But uncle!” Alysanne protested, purple eyes wide in disbelief. “You have to get married so you can be happy like mama and daddy!” She gestured to her parents for emphasis.

“There is much in life to make someone happy, sweetling.” Visenya said with an indulgent smile.

“Like what?” Alysanne asked her mother curiously. Edmund grinned.

“Don't you dare,” Visenya glared at him and he held his hands up in surrender.

“Too easy,” He responded, still grinning. He looked down at his pseudo niece who looked between him and her mother in confusion. “I have no plans to marry little one - “

“I'm not little!”

“But one day I might take someone to wife,” He ignored her protest. “If Papa Blackfish can get married, who's to say that I can't?” He grinned once more, using the nickname she had given to Brynden Tully when she was old enough to speak.

Ser Brynden had married a Frey girl to help carve out a new legacy for himself after what happened with his brother. Even to this day Lord Edmure had difficulties to deal with thanks to the actions of Hoster Tully. Edmund pitied them both.

“Is it true that Papa Blackfish and Papa Ray are going to have a wedding for their children?” Alysanne asked in delight, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“Who told you that?” Edmund frowned at her then looked towards the adults in the room.

“I may have heard someone mention a betrothal prospect for Rayna and Little Bryn.” Visenya admitted with a slight shrug.

“I had heard much of the same,” Daenerys offered.

 “It seemed a forgone conclusion given how much time they spend together,” Aurane added.

“And their fathers respect each other highly.” Missendei piped up.

“It would help strengthen the bond between the two houses much like Ser Owyn and Dame Genna are expected to do for houses Digger and Lann.” Sigorn concluded.

“Oh,” Edmund just blinked. Rayna Blackfish and Little Bryn Stonewall were still young enough for their parents to change their minds but if the reaction in the room was any indication, it seemed imminent. And he hadn't heard about any animosity between them so maybe it wasn't such a terrible idea.

“Well thankfully I don't need to get married anytime soon, maybe I could go on some adventures. Become Ser Edmund the Whitefish or something.” He said thoughtfully. “I could hunt down the remnants of the Winter Rose for a start.” Those fuckers were like roaches, and should be squashed as such. He thought with no small amount of bitterness.

“You'll have to convince your father and Grandfather as well,” Visenya said warningly. “They are not likely to just let you go.”

“I know,” Edmund muttered, looking sullen. “But they don't actually need me here, there are plenty of Starks to look after the North.”

“Talk to your father,” Visenya said again. “See what he says before you decide.”

Edmund just nodded his head but he had a planned forming in his mind. Maybe he could leave with Jon and Markus when they headed for Dorne after the wedding. Yes, that could work.

* * *

**Sigil for House Targaryen of the Stone Dragon, Visenya is the Lady of the House and Wardeness of the Stony Shore. Prince Baelor is the heir.**

 

**Sigil for house Driftwood of Driftmark Keep, the sworn Bannerman of House Targaryen of the Stony Shore. Daenerys is the Lady and her son Maekar will inherit the title of Lord.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If that song in the beginning seems familiar its because its a remixed version of the song from the 2004 King Arthur movie which has a few notable actors in there, namely Stephen Dillane, who would later play Stannis in the show.
> 
> And Visenya's keep is named as it is for a variety of reasons, it will be explained later however. Oh and Stonewall is the name of Ser Raymond's house. I'll post an appendix in the other story eventually so one will be lost.


	27. Twenty Years III

**Ser Addam Bloodborne, Raventree Hall**

The Baratheon bastard was strong looking, despite the fact that he would probably die today. He stood tall and looked Lord Tytos Blackwood in the eye.

“My men tell me that you fought for these Sparrows.”

“I did Lord Blackwood.”

“What did they promise you in return for your services?” Lord Tytos had narrowed his eyes in displeasure as did many others.

The fanatics had harassed many people, smallfolk and nobles alike. Addam remembered some of those fuckers in his fathers lands, talking about how they could cleanse his father of the taint in his blood. His father had responded appropriately, by placing their heads on pikes.

The bastard wouldn't be getting much love from anyone here regardless of his reasons.

“That my brothers would still be breathing and fed enough food to survive. Wasn't that difficult to make my choice.”

“Indeed,” Lord Tytos rumbled. “So you admit to your crimes?”

“If by crimes you mean the deaths of the men I fought, then yes. I freely admit to killing those who fought in the defense of their lands. If you mean anything I else, I afraid that you'll be disappointed to know that I am innocent.”

“Very well Ser -”

“I'm not a knight, Lord Blackwood.” How bold the bastard must feel to interrupt a lord in his own home, Addam thought, more intrigued than outraged. His countrymen bristled and snarled. Lord Tytos just frowned.

“You have no knighthood to your name?”

“No, the Sparrows did not deem me worthy enough to be called a knight because I'm a bastard.” Gendry shrugged at the end of your sentence, looking unconcerned.

“Very well then -” There was a commotion outside of the hall that drew the attention of everyone.

“I demand to see my brother – no I will not wait here!” A voice shouted and Gendry closed his eyes as if in pain. “Move aside damn you! I am the Lord of Storms End, I do not answer to a lowly guard!”

There was a yelp and the doors burst open. The other sons of the late Robert Baratheon stormed in, looking furious. The taller of the two bellowed, “What is the meaning of this?! How dare you mistreat my heir!” He was looking right at Lord Blackwood as he said it.

“You mind your tongue boy or I -” A guard had stepped forward and was punched for his trouble.

“Durran, Edric, get out of here,” Gendry snapped at them.

“Be quiet Gendryus, I am trying to save your life.” Durran Baratheon snapped back. Gendryus? Addam thought incredulously, no wonder he shortened it. That was one of the most obnoxious names he had ever heard. The bastard wrinkled his nose at his name being mentioned.

“There is nothing to save Lord Baratheon, he admitted to fighting for the enemies of my house and all those they had affected.” Lord Blackwood said curtly.

“Did you bother to ask him why?” Durran shot back. Several guards came in to restrain him and his brother for all the good it would do them. Addam marveled at them. Last he heard they were bed ridden but here they were, proving their house words to be more than that.

“It doesn't matter why. I have his confession and these are my lands. His life is in my hands.”

“Then you better kill us too,” The other brother, Edric, hissed in fury. “Or you and your lands will never know peace again.”

“You would die for him?”

“Of course, just as he would die for us.” Durran snarled out. “That's why he did what he did. He put his life out there so we could live while the rest of you fuckers moaned and complained about your lands. We were threatened everyday of our lives and not one of you bothered to come and get us. You must have thought we were dead but that is no excuse since you didn't have proof.”

“For nearly ten years we were their prisoners and not even my own Bannerman bothered to look for us. For his valor my brother, my heir, should be allowed to fight for his freedom just as he fought for ours. I demand that he have a trial by combat.”

“Bastards don't have trials by combat, the Andals decreed it as such,” Lord Tytos responded but he looked thoughtful. “Only the high and true born can demand such a thing.”

“Would you give anything to save your family, Lord Tytos?” Edric Storm asked softly. “Would you die for them, fight alongside despicable people if it meant that they could live?”

Lord Tytos responded after a moment, “I would.” His answer seemed to upset his Bannerman.

“Then what is the difference between you and my brother? What makes you more privileged to have the right to a trial by combat than he when you both have the same values?”

The silence that followed his question didn't stay silent for long. Many of the other lords and assorted Rivermen started to mutter between themselves and it didn't sound good to Addam's ears. He personally didn't care about the bastard status of the accused, his grandfather had been a bastard after all and his father had been saddled with the name Rivers despite being true born. Of course he did pick a name for his house after he was granted a keep but legally speaking he still carried the name.

“Father, you cannot consider this,” Brynden Blackwood, the heir to the very castle they stood in, protested when his father didn't speak. “He confessed, that is all that is needed.”

Lord Tytos said nothing but he shot his son a look that meant he should stay quiet. Unfortunately, the other lords and knights started to speak at once. The Blackwood heir seemed unrepentant, as most of the chatter was in favor of killing Robert Baratheon's bastard son.

There was a dull roar and a jet of fire that flew across the room,causing people to duck or dive out of its path. It swirled around the room before it disappeared into nothing.

“All of you forget whose house this is,” Ser Markus Ryden bellowed over the commotion. “Lord Blackwood will decide what happens to...Gendryus was it?”

He smirked slightly as the bastard flushed and glared at him. Ser Renly and Dame Mya eyed the Northern Knight warily, wondering where he was going with this.

“The rest of you cunts don't get a say. So shut the fuck up and sit down or I'll start roasting you lot!”

He turned to Lord Tytos and inclined his head, “Begging your pardons, my lord. But the relief effort is hindered as we stay here pissing about. My men and I need to head home to report to Lord Eddard and our assorted commanders there. Just like all of you need to speak with Lord Edmure.”

Lord Tytos nodded his head, “You are forgiven for your outburst, Ser Markus. Next time, try to gain order through less...flammable means. I'd rather not have to find a new home because you got excited.”

Ser Markus just nodded his head with an easy going grin, his wife rolled her eyes beside him. Lord Tytos paused to consider his words before speaking again.

“The boy can have his trial, today,” He scowled at those who protested. “Give him some armor and a shield. We will honor the outcome, no matter what it is. I need a volunteer to fight on behalf of the Riverlands.”

* * *

**Ser Jonothor 'Jon' Vorian, the Courtyard of Raventree Hall**

Jon watched intently as Gendry dipped a length of chain in oil and into a fire, igniting it. He swung it experimentally before he decided that it was okay. His opponent, A Ser Heryn, a knight in the service of House Blackwood scoffed and readied his sword.

“Are you ready to die boy?” Ser Heryn said gruffly, adjusting his helmet.

“Do you worst.” Gendry responded, raising his shield and swinging the chain he had. The fire rippled with each swing. Ser Heryn, charged forward, swinging his sword sideways to catch Gendry in the ribs. His shield stopped the sword blow and Gendry swung his chain at the knight who blocked it with his shield.

That was the dance they did for awhile and Jon thought that Gendry's chain should have gone out by now, since it wasn't dipped in Wildfire. He glanced over at Markus who was checking his fingernails and looking bored. Jon knew that he was controlling the fire but to what end, he wasn't sure. They had no dog in this fight so why -

He sidestepped when Ser Heryn's sword came flying in his direction. He caught it by the handle before it could hurt anyone behind him and he twirled it in his hand before stabbing it into the ground. He turned back to see Gendry's chained wrapped around Ser Heryn's neck which he yanked, snapping it.

The crowd, which had mostly cheered for the Blackwood Knight, turned mutinous.

“Gendryus Storm goes free,” Lord Tytos announced. “Anyone who harms him will answer to me.” Here he turned to address Gendry. “Now get the hell out of my castle and territory.” He left swiftly without another word. His sons all scowled and followed.

“Renly, Mya, get your kin to our camp.” Markus ordered the two warriors in their group. “The rest of you, form a wall around them and start walking.” They did as he bade and Jon moved over to him.

 _“You kept the fire going, didn't you?”_ He asked in the Old Tongue.

 _“And what if I did?”_ Markus replied in the same language. At least he didn't deny it.

_“Why did you do it?”_

_“He's Renly's nephew. Mya's brother. They are apart of my forces and they are my responsibility. How do you think his death would have affected their state of mind? How do you think those two brothers of his would have responded? I saved lives by helping him win and helped prevent further conflict between the people if those boys died. What's the life of one old knight compared to the lives of those who could have been saved?”_

_“We've been at war for years, and another war will come again, I know it in my heart. We need to prepare for that one or else it would bleed into the one that could have happened if those three died today. The Gods don't care about Justice, they're Gods. They won't care that I helped someone win, just as long as someone died.”_

He turned away then, eyes going dim, _“We will need all the strength we can gather to fight against our enemies. We can't do that if we fight amongst our allies.”_

Jon nodded his head, _“Very well.”_ There was no judgment in his tone or words. He fully understood where his brother in arms was coming from. “And who is this supposed enemy?” He added quietly in Andalai, the common tongue of Westeros.

“The last living son of the Mad King.”

* * *

Sigil for House Bloodborne

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know more about House Bloodborne, head over to the other part of this series. Be sure to read the appendix in there as well.


	28. Twenty Years IV

**Prince Viserys Targaryen, The Dragonstone Throne Room**

“Illyrio, how have the numbers for the coffers been coming?” He asked the fat merchant. He wasn't the most trusted of his advisers, but he kept the money flowing and growing. When he became King, he would honor his promise to have this sack of lard be his Master of Coin. He wouldn't be a good king if he went back on his word.

And Illyrio owed him for letting him stay on Dragonstone all these years after Pentos burned.

“They are going strong my Prince,” Illyrio responded. “The quarterly findings have increased nearly five percent from the last quarter. I could recommend more holdings to invest in with this increased wealth.”

“Later,” Viserys murmured, turning to the heir of his future Master of Ships, Ser Monford Velaryon.” Is there anything to report from the docks and sea?”

“Pirates continue to be a problem but we've managed to keep them at arms length, my lord.” The knight replied with a cool tone. “Smugglers have been stealing from the Merchants and vice versa. Some of them have been aiding the Pirates which is why they are still a problem. We will remain vigilant as we always have, you have my word.”

Your word but not your love, Viserys thought with a sharp nod. He could admit to himself that he had acted rashly when he branded the Driftmark bastard as a rapist – if only because he had lost his sister and the respect of one of his strongest Bannerman. Daenerys deserved better than a bastard, no matter how beloved by his community he was. She was a Princess, she deserved the very best.

Not him, he wouldn't go down that road. He would have to break that particular tradition in order to gain favor across the Seven Kingdoms. The Blood of Old Valyria was still out there, even amongst his cousins in Lys. His family would have to marry them if he wanted the small piece of Valyria to survive.

Its okay for the Northern savages to worship trees and talk to beasts, and its okay for the others to practice their ways but mine must be called into question? He thought angrily. He was no fool, his father's madness had been the result of many things including the incest but people forgot that just as there were mad royals in his family, there were also good ones too, despite the incest they practiced.

“Ser Baemar,” He spoke to his spymaster, putting aside his angry thoughts. “What can you tell me of the happenings in the continent?”

Baemar Bloodraven gave him a cold look, as was his way, “Generally content it seems, with the war of the Sparrows being over. Individually, well, where to begin? Dorne may declare for you but that rests entirely on how you treat them and the Winter Lands.”

He shouldn't be surprised that Dorne and the North – He refused to refer to them as anything other than that – were tied together. The North gave Dorne the justice they wanted, and in gratitude, they gave them people to marry, building an unnatural alliance the likes of which had never been seen before.

No he shouldn't be surprised but it still galled him that the two Kingdoms who never fully submitted to Dragon rule were now allies. It did not make him feel comfortable in anyway.

“Remind me, who was married between them?”

“Prince Oberyn's eldest bastard girl married the eldest bastard of the Stark bunch. And Prince Doran's eldest son married lord Eddard's second daughter.”

“Strange that,” Illyrio remarked. “Shouldn't the eldest daughter have married the eldest son?”

“A second daughter is perfectly suitable for a second child.” Baemar said curtly. For someone who was born in the East, he understood Westerosi politics very well. “I can't tell you much else about the Winter Lands since I cannot establish any sort of network there. Every time I tried, it didn't end well for those I employed.”

That was not acceptable, Viserys thought.

“What can you tell me?” He asked.

“Durran Baratheon and his bastard brothers have resurfaced. The Sparrows had them, and they had the older bastard fight for them whilst using the other two as leverage. The remnants of their order were defeated in the lands of House Blackwood. The Baratheon bastard secured his siblings freedom and killed their captives before surrendering. He was nearly executed but he managed to secure a trial by combat.”

Viserys was mostly bored with what he was hearing but that certainly got his attention, “How did he achieve such a thing?”

“Durran Baratheon argued that, as one of his heirs, Gendryus Storm,” Viserys snorted, what kind of name was that? “should be allowed the right to fight for his life. Despite his lack of formal training, he won his freedom, and is headed to the Winter Lands with a small Vanguard lead by Ser Markus Ryden, the bastard grandson of Lord Rickard Stark and son by law to Prince Oberyn.”

“Well this solves the mystery of House Baratheon,” Viserys said flatly. He did not, despite popular belief, have anything to do with their kidnapping. The Sparrows despised him, since he was a product of incest, and an abomination in their eyes. Did his heart bleed for them, however? No, it didn't and all Seven Hells would have to freeze over before that ever happened.

House Baratheon's entire existence was done by the grace of his ancestors. Robert Baratheon even had a Targaryen grandmother, which made he and Rhaegar kinsmen. It didn't stop the fucking brute from killing his brother and for what? A damn Northern girl?

“They head North, you said?” Viserys asked for clarification.

“They do, they will most likely stay with Ser Stannis and his brood before they try to come back south. It wouldn't surprise me if they went to Lady Sansa's wedding.”

“Who?” Illyrio blinked at Baemar who gave an irritated growl.

“Lady Sansa Stark,” Viserys answered, irritated himself. His entire council wasn't completely filled - and with good reason, he needed the room for the other members when he became king – but it was already drawn out as it was. Illyrio's interruptions were not appreciated. “She's the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark. She's due to marry Ser Domeric Towers.” Bolton, his mind corrected but thankfully he didn't say that out loud.

He may not agree with the notion of the North or even Dorne being allowed to revive old family names if they so desired but they had been allowed their rights by Aegon I, and he would abide by that.

“Yes,” Baemar grumbled. “And I understand that your mother wishes to attend the wedding?”

“She does,” Viserys said flatly. His mother had begged him to go North, to see her daughter and grandchildren. All of them, including the half Stark one with an actual Stone Dragon. “I fear for her safety however, with my family being disliked in the North, and with my niece's dragon flying about.”

He had tried hatching his own dragon but nothing worked. And even if he had, Stone Dragons, while rare, were better than normal dragons since they couldn't be killed through normal means or enemy dragon fire. Aegon and his sister had nine dragons with them during their campaign. True, they only rode one a piece but the others followed the calls of the three eldest dragons, even the small stone dragon that they had.

That dragon, Caraxes, had died alongside its rider, Prince Daemon Targaryen, during the Targaryen civil war when it drowned in the Gods Eye but it was formidable and one of the older dragons that they had. He knew not as to how his niece came into the possession of one, and while he could hope that she would join his side in any conflict that came about, she could just as easily take everything from him.

Unless he had a deterrent for her dragon, which, on hand, he did not.

“While I cannot pretend to know of methods that could defend against a stone Dragon, my men and I would protect your mother from any harm that may come to her, or die trying.”

His first instinct was to say no but then he thought about it. His mother could vouch for him, or try to put in a good word at least, with either of the Stark lords. It was a long shot, and he wasn't entirely hopeful. But he could give his mother this before he pressed his claim for the throne.

“I consent...” He said slowly, much to the surprise of his other two councilors. “Should anything happen to my mother, or if you should start an incident, I will burn all of Lys.”

That was a bluff, he knew that, but they didn't though it looked like Ser Baemar was trying very hard to keep his eyes from rolling.

“As you say, my prince.” The knight responded with a short bow.

“Ser Monford, tell your father to send someone to represent your house, go yourself if you wish.” Monford stared at him incredulously. “I know that your brother is missed. Go see him and his children or send someone else to do it. You have my blessing.”

“My thanks Prince Viserys,” Monford said slowly, warily, as if he was waiting for Viserys to take back what he said. Viserys just nodded his head back.

“Talk it over with each other,” He ordered the two knights. “And the council is dismissed for today.”

* * *

 

**Prince Doran, The Sunspear Throne Room**

Doran leaned over a table, looking over the map of Dorne that had been updated with the new banners for the new houses that he could count on in the future. The grey maned black stallion on blue and white of Oldsand, his nieces house. The grey crescent on purple and white of Vorian and the quartered wolf and sun on black and white of house Sunwolf, Quentyn's new house.

House Vorian were seated in High Hermitage, just along the Torrentine and half a days ride from the Starfall bridge. House Oldsand were situated in the High Castle, a small keep that belonged to those of High Hermitage, but was gifted instead his niece and her husband by Ser Jonothor. It was meant to be connected by a thick wall that went straight to High Hermitage to help better defend the northern border but for some reason it was never finished.

Quentyn was gifted some land by both him and Lord Anders Yronwood, one of the few things that they had actively agreed on. It was situated in Yronwood lands of course, south east of Yronwood itself, but mostly garrisoned by Martell forces. He and his wife hadn't named it yet but perhaps they would when they arrived.

“You have visitors, my Prince.” One of the guards announced from the door.

“Who is it?” He asked back, still looking over the map.

“Princess Arianne and Prince Trystane.”

He saw Areo tense in the corner of his eye. He himself was weary. His relationship with his children had soured over the years, first with his wife leaving him and with Quentyn being sent away. They never sought him out and barely attended supper with him unless they had too.

“Send them in.”

His children came in after a moment and he stood to greet them.

“My children,” He murmured.

“Father,” They said in unison, sounding displeased in having to greet him.

“What is it you need?”

“Answers,” Arianne replied. “Especially when it comes to why you denied our chosen matches, when you yourself married someone you chose.”

“I did,” He nodded. “And my Lords Bannerman indulged me in that, more so than our counterparts across the continent would for their Overlords. Because my marriage was over looked, and because your uncle was never interested in marriage, your match cannot be Arianne, for you are my heir. You will have to marry one of the sons of Dorne. A ruler who doesn't honor their lords will never last long.”

“And me,” Trystane demanded. “I am third in line to Sunspear, why must I be told -”

“Because you are no longer third in line but second,” Doran interrupted him. “Your brother abdicated his right to the family seat in favor of you.”

“What?” Trystane said in shock. “Why?”

“He hasn't lived in Sunspear since he was a boy, he doesn't know its people,” Doran replied. “He didn't think it would be fair to have his place in the line of succession still exist because of that.”

There were other reasons of course, He thought, retrieving the missive from Quentyn. His eldest son knew that he would make a useful toll for a potential rebellion if the Yronwoods wished to use him. His lack of claim to the Dornish throne nearly nullified that threat but not entirely.

“In his own words, read the last line if you wish to know why I hadn't said anything.” He handed the missive to his children, turning back to his work as they read.

“One day, I will take you both into my confidence,” He added after a moment. H could feel their gazes on him then but he didn't look up. “But you both have to prove to me that you can be trusted with what I know. You think I don't know about what the two of you say to your little friends that I allow to stay here? Or that they have sent word back to their families? Already your work to turn people against me has backfired instead.”

“The smallfolk and nobles alike do not speak of a weak prince but spoiled children who don't know their place.” He looked up to see them flush in embarrassment and anger. “If anything, they pity me and my situation. Both of you are still my heirs and Arianne will rule after me. I have no mind to change that. But until I die, you both answer to me. The next time you come here, do not pretend to be calm when in actuality you wish to pout and whine. I would respect you more.”

He turned back to the map, “I love you both, never question that. But right now, I have to worry about all of Dorne, not just you two. My attention has always been towards my duty, my marriage was the only time I indulged in anything else. If there is nothing else that you wish to discuss, you may go. I expect you both to join me for supper tonight.”

He moved pieces around, forming battle lines like he used to when he was a child. He barely heard his children leave, thankfully it was because they muttered their goodbyes and closed the doors quietly. Not that such actions gave him hope for them but it was an improvement from the last time they spoke.

* * *

**Sigil for house Oldsand. Originally it was a personal sigil for Markus but his wife adopted it when she was made the Lady of High Castle.**

 

**Sigil for House Vorian of High Hermitage. Originally Jon's personal sigil.**

**Sigil for house Sunwolf, Arya and Quentyn's House.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last time that the twenty years title will be used. I'm not sure, I'll see how the next chapter goes. Let me know your thoughts on this one and if anyone has ideas for Arya and Quentyn's castle, please feel free to let me know what name you think suits it. I'm a little stumped at the moment and I will give you credit if I pick it.


	29. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is a bit of smut in one POV (Missendei's) if you don't like that sort of thing, just skip over to Markus. You've been warned. Oh and there is a bit of a time skip here, its roughly a few months, mainly two, after the last one so if anyone is confused, that's why.

**Rickard Stark, the Lords Solar, Winterfell**

Rickard sighed as he went over what his son was telling him, “Ned, there is no way that I will allow that man into my home. Not after what he tried to do.”

“Until we can actively challenge him, we must pretend that nothing is wrong. You know this, father.”

He did, by the gods he did. It was simple politics after all, but, in his old age, he had grown to care less and less. And for gods sake, one of his grandchildren and her children were nearly killed, honor demanded that he responded! Of course he was no longer the Lord of the very castle they were in, but Ned sought his council and tolerated his presence. The least he could do was listen.

“Fine, but keep the Alcohol away from Jon and Markus. They'll kill the entire family before we could stop them if they were deep in their cups.”

His son grimaced, “I'll let the servants know.”

“Blasted Thenns,” Rickard muttered angrily. “Who was it that gave them their home when the land they came from was destroyed by the White Walkers? Who was it that took them in and gave them protection?! Its as if the fuckers forgot about what I did to those who tried to usurp your place!”

Ned grimaced again, “If what Jarl said is true, Styr Thenn did this because you stepped down and because Jon and Markus were in the South.”

“Idiot!” Rickard scoffed. “All three of them are powerful, not just the boys! Just because Markus could burn an entire field with the snap of his fingers, and Jon can fly as fast as a falling star and control the wind, doesn't mean that Visenya is weak! She shows her strength and restraint by not marching North and leveling the Shadow Tower on top of Styr's head!”

He didn't care about what people thought of him after he stepped down, he was in his bloody sixties for gods sake, it was time for Ned to take control, he had learned enough from him. But this was one step too far.

“I know you are angry father, I am too,” Ned said quietly. The only proof of his anger was the small bit of rage in his eyes. “But we must pretend that nothing is wrong lest we start a civil war amongst the North.”

And that wouldn't do, Rickard sighed, “Fine.” He grumbled again. “Hopefully Visenya can convince the boys to tone down their reactions. If not them, their wives and lovers should set them right. Maybe I'll get more great grandchildren to spoil considering how virile-”

“Father, please!” Ned said in exasperation, cutting him off.

“Don't pretend that you weren't thinking it,” Rickard shot back with a roll of his eyes. “I'm just saying that we shouldn't be surprised if more children were made. Unless you think they are reading novels and scrolls at night to warm their beds?”

* * *

**Missendei of Naath, her quarters in the Stone Dragon**

Her small clothes were pulled down to her feet and she stepped out of them. A light kiss to her left cheek was the signal for her to get into position. Missendei crawled onto her bed and raised her hips up invitingly. She groaned when she felt her lover bottom out in her sex. She gasped when he pulled back and started rutting into her.

“Gods I've missed this,” Obara groaned from her left. Missendei turned and saw her other lover tweaking one of her nipples and fingering her sex.

Missendei crawled towards her, whimpering when her lovers cock slipped out of her but she latched onto Obara's nipple, getting an eyeful of the tattoo that was on her breast. This was not an unfamiliar position for her and it became more familiar when Markus slipped back into her.

He groaned when her walls clamped around him, “Fuck.” He gripped her hips tightly, by not so tight as to leave a bruise.

“We were gone too long it seems,” Obara murmured, running her fingers through Missendei's hair lovingly. “She's overly eager.” She pulled her up and gave her a quick kiss.

Not just eager, Missendei thought, while Obara gently pushed her head down her body. She licked and nipped at her lovers tender flesh before reaching her destination. As she slowly licked at the slit between Obara's legs, taking pride in making her moan and enjoying the taste of her, she thought back to just how this came to be.

Mainly because it kept her mind elsewhere so she could last longer. It had been celebratory for the most part, they were the victors in the war and there was a feast in their honor. As they drank and put the children to bed, hands had drifted under her dress and she lost the dress when they both got tired of playing. She got to admire the bodies she had missed all this time taking in the new scars and tattoos that they got after each battle.

She enjoyed every last bit of her inspections. But come tomorrow, it would be a day of serious discussion and arguments. For now, however, she would revel in the taste of Obara and the strength of Markus' hips.

* * *

 **Ser Markus Ryden, the Great Hall of the Stone Dragon**

Markus knew something was wrong. Missendei was hiding something as she fed their son, and so were Visenya and her husband as they tended to their children. Even Daenerys, sweet Dany as he used to call her when he first met her, seemed uncomfortable about something.

Her husband was a silent as the grave, which was unlike him. True, he was quiet, but not silent. There was an ominous silence attached to Edmund as he was making himself known to them when he would usually just fade into the background.

Something was definitely wrong.

He chewed his bacon and made sure that his older children didn't play with their porridge while Obara fed their youngest. He caught Jon's glance and he seemed suspicious as well.

“We'll talk after we eat,” Visenya spoke to them in the Old Tongue. “And not a moment before and not in front of the children.”

He shared another glance with Jon before he turned back and gave his cousin a nod. This was her home, even if he didn't respect her -which he did- he would at least honor her in her own home.

He continued to chew his food and talk with the children who were none the wiser to the tension that existed.

* * *

 

**The Dragon's Solar**

Visenya's solar hadn't changed much, her Banner hung above her hearth, just above the mantle place. The first sword she ever learned how to use was mounted there. The thing had so many notches and scrapes, it was bent sideways from all the times she hit something with it. She loved it, cherished it even, from the moment their grandfather gave it to her after she finished her basic training, to when Master Aemon had given her the Valyrian steel sword, Truth.

She left it there as a reminder, she said, for her children and for her, so they would know where she came from.

“So what is this about cousin?” Markus asked. “Why is everyone so quiet?”

Visenya sighed, “There was an attempt,” She began slowly, watching him and Jon. “On my life and that of my children.”

Markus blinked and the fire in the hearth grew bright before it subsided. Air swirled around the room in a strong gust of wind, sending loose items about before the wind stopped.

“Who,” Markus growled out, eyes alight with fire. Jon didn't look much better, neither did their wives.

“Swear to me, on your children and Direwolves, that you will not attack the person mentioned as being the mastermind.” Visenya said back, staring at all four of them. “Swear to me.” She demanded.

“On the lives of my children, and my Direwolf,” Markus began after a moment of cold silence. “I will not attack the person you mention as being the mastermind of a plot against you.” He had to say the whole thing, no matter how much he didn't want to. Visenya would not accept anything less than that.

Jon and the others swore their oaths as well and they all waited impatiently.

“Lord Styr Thenn ordered the attempt and it was carried out by one of the villagers that live near the Shadow Tower.” She murmured. Markus slid his gaze towards Sigorn in that moment before he turned back to his cousin.

“How did he get in?” Didn't you vet him? He wanted to say but accusations would not go over well and he needed all the facts before he started pointing fingers.

“He had been here for months prior,” Visenya admitted. “He had joined a fishing crew from Bear Island that got swept all the way down here in that Storm we had what was it, seven moons ago?” She asked her husband.

“Just about, and two months later you had Osric.” Sigorn said quietly.

“He stayed on that entire time?” Jon asked incredulously. “And neither of you thought that was odd?”

“He said that he had no home to go to, and the crew was to come here and aid us in building our fishing community and port so we did not think it suspicious when he stayed on.” Visenya said calmly.

“I had recognized him from my childhood,” Sigorn admitted. “But he gave no indication that he remembered me, which was odd but enough time had passed that maybe he did truly forget. I had him watched all the same just in case with Visenya's permission.”

And they went onto say that nothing had happened for a while, and they thought he was a good man. Then certain ingredients from the Maester's stores had gone missing from time to time, ingredients to make poison. He had poisoned some of their food supplies in the hopes of killing them all but he had got caught running away by the guards who were not gentle to say the least.

“He even tried to poison Smoke Ring.” Visenya huffed, rolling her eyes. Markus did as well. As rare as they were, it was pretty common knowledge that Stone Dragons could not be poisoned. They could drown, freeze from the intense cold and even starve, but poison and fire did nothing against it.

“Jarl is dead, I executed him myself.” Visenya added after a moment. “Lord Styr is not to be touched until after Sansa's wedding.”

“I don't like it either,” Edmund spoke up when Markus frowned. “I don't want him anywhere near the family, Sansa especially, but we have to keep this quiet for now.”

“I suppose its a good thing that Arya and Quentyn went to the Greystag then,” Jon muttered, looking thoughtful. “We wouldn't have been able to stop her from going.”

She was sneaky and too quick for that, Markus thought with a grimace, thinking back to the first day that Arya had used her gift. She was about six and had ran nearly halfway to Castle Cerwyn before she stopped running due to exhaustion. The Children had found her and brought her home and offered to train her as they had all the other gifted Northerners.

Yes, it was a good thing that Arya did not know about this. She'd already be on her way to the Shadow Tower, oaths be damned.

“We won't touch the old man,” Markus pronounced . “Not until after the wedding at least. Or until your father says we can.” He added to Edmund's benefit. Edmund just nodded his head in response. “I must admit, the old man has balls to try this. Being so far North should have frozen them off by now.”

That startled a laugh out of Jon and Aurane. The others joined in quietly which helped break whatever tension remained. Markus gave his cousin a wink when she gave him a grateful look. She more than likely expected him to go crazy at this revelation. And he nearly did, but he had a family of his own to think of now, he couldn't just go off half cocked and not expect to come out unscathed.

Life didn't work that way, and he wasn't going to tempt fate.

* * *

**Unknown, The shores of Hardhome**

The scavenger whimpered under his hold, “Mercy.” The pitiful man begged. He snapped his neck to silence his cries. He swiped his hand and the skin on the body faded away and he threw the body into the ever growing pile that he started to build. He did this several times before he stood in front of one last scavenger, and admired his body.

“This will do nicely,” He hissed, running a clawed and bony finger along the torso. The scavenger spat at him and he laughed before gripping him by the neck.

“As my time in this body ends, the time in yours will begin,” He whispered lifting the man up. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and felt his soul and the souls he drained over time leave his body and shoot towards the man he held in a brilliant green light.

The scavenger screamed and the parasitic warg took the opportunity to enter his mouth like a rushing river. The body of the warg disintegrated into dust and the scavenger's body floated in the air, arms outstretched and feet together. The scavengers soul screamed in agony as it was added to the thrall of the warg and the warg took over his body. The large blue eyes of the scavenger glazed over until they were milky white and then green. A cruel smile flitted onto his face and a mad cackle tore itself from his lips as he reveled in the newest and freshest body that he had in over two thousand years.

He landed on the ground and sliced up the pile of bodies with several movements of his hands. The blood drained from them and filled up the grooves in the ground. The runes and seals he had made in the spot near the shore line had to be re-carved as time went on but it was worth it. He finally had some outsider blood that was not affected by the prison runes that his fellow criminals had been branded with.

First Men Blood would have been preferable though you could argue that since the First Men came from the East, these eastern scavengers were perfectly acceptable for the ritual. He moved his hands in airy motions, muttering under his breath in the Old Tongue, and shot several souls into bloody foundation whilst walking around the circle he carved.

With a heavy breath, he held his hands towards the sky, creating a large green ball of souls that grew bigger and bigger with each passing second. Finally, with a roar, he slammed the ball into the ground. The energy crackled across the earth, shooting its way towards the shore line like a lightning bolt. It hit an invisible barrier before destroying it in a shower of magical shards.

The warg roared in triumph, it was finally free.

South of the Wall, an old Child of the Forrest gasped awake from its slumber and stared at his companions in horror, the old defenses had been breached. Their brother had escaped his prison.


	30. A White Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slight time jump in this one, two weeks at most. Hopefully that doesn't confuse anyone.

**Lady Sansa Stark, her Personal Garden, Winterfell  
**

Sansa was tending to her garden of flowers. It was in poor taste really as she was to be married soon enough, in about two hours in fact.

“Sansa!” Her mother's voice called to her in a huff. “There you are! What are you doing here in the garden – Sansa?” Her mother had noticed that the flowers had started to wilt. “Are you unwell?” She asked in concern.

“No,” Sansa said quietly, turning to face her mother. “I'm not sick but -” She stopped suddenly and shook her head, frustrated. “I can't explain it.”

“If you wish to postpone the wedding -”

“Its not that,” Sansa said hurriedly. “I want to marry Domeric, he's good and kind despite his origins.”

“Then what is it, Sansa?”

How could Sansa explain to her mother about the nightmare she had several nights ago when she herself did not understand it? How could she explain the monster with the decayed skin and bright green eyes who killed her parents and her uncles before turning to her and saying that she was next? Or of the whispered conversations between her father, grandfather and some of the Children of the Forest?

“Its nothing, I promise,” Sansa shook her head again and attempted a smile, the flowers even growing healthy again in response. Her mother clearly didn't believe her, so she tried again. “Its nothing mother, I promise. Do we have enough time to get into my dress?”

Her mother eyed her sharply before her gaze softened, “If we head to your chambers now, we will.”

“Then let us get moving, I don't want to be late for my wedding.” Sansa smiled again, this time a tad more genuine. As she took her mothers hand in her own, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

* * *

 

**Ser Markus Ryden, Winterfell's Courtyard  
**

Markus tried his best to not grin at the his cousin's discomfort. Domeric shifted on his feet uneasily, taking in all the faces that stared at him.

“I suppose this is where you all give me a hard time?” He said stiffly. Amateur mistake, Markus thought, his grin widening.

“Who said anything about a hard time?” Edmund said flatly, and with a lazy look in his eyes. “We're all happy to see our sister get married, aren't we boys?” He asked Jon and Robb, who merely stared at Domeric unblinkingly.

Quentyn just shrugged when Domeric looked at him, offering no insight. His time before marrying Arya wasn't as awkward as this, but it was awkward.

“You're my cousin and I love you,” Markus said when he turned to him. “And I love Sansa as well but she's their sister.” He nodded at the three men to his left. “You'll get no help from me.”

Domeric gave him a betrayed look which made him roll his eyes. So dramatic, he thought as they all lapsed into awkward silence. The silence was broken when his father came over to them.

“Time to get in to your places.” Lord Brandon said taking in their expressions. He too rolled his eyes. “She's marrying him boys now knock it off or I'll tell her to use your hair to plant flowers like she did as a child.” Markus burst into laughter as Sansa's brothers grimaced.

When Sansa had been a little girl she had put seeds in to their thick and short hair, and prayed to the Seven to make pretty flowers grow there like in one of her favorite stories. She didn't try it with Markus because she was afraid that he would just burn them off. The next morning, all three boys had multicolored flowers sprouting up through their hair.

Sansa had been delighted that her prayers were answered but she wailed when her brothers cut their hair to remove the flowers. All the plants near her started to die as she sobbed at her 'loss'. Leaf had taken her aside to show her why she should be more careful in the future and even gave her a small pot to plant whatever flower she wanted. Her father had planted a garden for her when she was older and in more control.

Jon, Robb, and Edmund grumbled as they moved towards the Godswood. Something about their fun being spoiled and Domeric gave Lord Brandon a grateful smile before he and Quentyn moved to join them. Markus started walking but his father held up a hand to stop him.

“My lord?” Markus said with a frown and his father frowned in return.

“Markus,” He said pained. “You can call me father.”

“Are you sure?” Markus said with false cheer. “I think your wife might have a problem with that, my lord.”

He took no pleasure in the fact that his father flinched at his words but he did soften his tone, “What do you want my lord?”

“Your sister wishes to join you on your journey to Dorne,” Lord Brandon said softly, much to the surprise of Markus.

“Whatever for?” Her mother made it clear that none of her children would look upon me favorably, He thought incredulously. Nyna Flint had not been overly cruel to him as he grew to manhood but he received more affection from Lady Catelyn than he did his stepmother. And he remembered her face every time he called Lord Brandon father or when he presented his son to Lord Rickard Stark to receive his blessing.

“She wishes to earn her Denship under your tutelage. She'd rather learn from a seasoned and traveled warrior than someone who lived here their entire lives. And she wishes to reconnect with you after all this time,” He added softly.

“I'm sure your heir enjoyed hearing that,” Markus said bitterly before he could stop himself. While his stepmother did not wish him ill, his half brother had made it clear that he did not like him. Going so far as to say that he would never be welcomed in the Wolf's Cradle when he became lord.

“Torrhen doesn't make the decisions for our house, I do.” Brandon said sharply before composing himself and placing his hand on Markus' shoulder. “You are my first born Markus, no matter what name you have, you are my son, never forget that.”

Kind of hard to do so, Markus thought but he just nodded his head all the same. “As far as my sisters request goes, I will have to speak with her first and see for myself if she is ready. And Obara would have to sign off on it, since the High Castle is her home, not mine.”

“I understand but please, consider it, you and Evie used to be so close.” His father looked pained once more at the thought.

“I know, and if we regain even a fraction of the relationship we had, I would be happy. But I am not the lord of the castle in Dorne, I am just married to its lady. She will have the final say.”

“Of course.”

Obara would agree if he convinced her to let it happen. But he needed to speak with Evie first, and understand why she wanted to earn her Denship from Markus and not another Northerner.

* * *

 

**Ser Locke Winter, the Godswood of Winterfell**

“Who comes before the gods this day” The Septon from the Snowy Sept intoned. Lord Eddard stepped forward just behind his daughter.

“Lady Sansa of house Stark comes here to wed.” He said dutifully. “A woman grown, true borne and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods.”

“And who comes to claim her?” The Septon looked at Domeric who straightened his posture.

“Ser Domeric, of house Towers, Lord of Roger Hall. True borne and noble. I've come to claim her as my wife.” The Septon nodded a him before turning back towards Lord Eddard.

“And who gives her?” He asked.

“Lord Eddard of house Stark, her father.”

“Lady Sansa, do you take this man?”

“I take this man as my husband.” Sansa said with confidence and a small smile. Lock smiled as well. It gladdened his heart that his cousin had found someone who loved him despite his blood.

“Then both of you may step forward.” The Septon gestured for them to come closer which they did. He turned to lord Stark, “Remove the cloak of her birth house, so she may receive the one of her marriage, my lord.”

Eddard did as he was told, removing the grey cloak with white patterns stoically. Locke had been stoic during his marriage as well but for different reasons to be sure. He had never worshiped the Seven before then and he still didn't despite his marriage to Rei. He went through the motions for her but he had another ceremony in a Godswood the first chance he got.

The Northmen hardly considered a marriage in the Faith binding or even legal and it wouldn't surprise him if the Southerners thought all Northerners were bastards because so many of them worshiped the true gods of Westeros. Domeric and Sansa should be safe with this dual ceremony.

“You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” The Septon said to Domeric who looked at him. Locke gave him a white cloak with red and pink patterns swirled about. They were the colors of his own personal sigil and the ones that would replace the red, white and black of the Flayed Man of Bolton.

Domeric placed the cloak around Sansa's shoulders with a small smile which mirrored hers. They then turned to the Septon and offered their hands when they were asked too. The Septon wrapped their hands gently in rainbow colored ribbons.

“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for all eternity.” He intoned loudly for the those who attended. He looked at the both of them. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

They did as they were told and began to exchange their vows.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Crone, Stranger, I am his and he is mine from this day until the end of my days.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.”

“Let it be known that Sansa of house Stark and Domeric of house Towers are one heart. One Flesh. One soul. Cursed be they who would seek to tear them asunder. You may kiss your wife, Ser Domeric.”

Domeric leaned in and Sansa did as well. The kiss sealed their union and the people in the Godswood cheered.

“And now we can fuckin' eat!” Lord Tormund Giantsbane roared from the back, drawing laughs here and there. The Lord of Oakenshield grinned under his red beard, looking pleased with himself. Even though relations between the Northern most lords and the rest had not been as strong as before, Locke appreciated the humor and laughed himself silly.

“You heard, Lord Giantsbane, to the main hall with you!” Eddard shouted with a laugh and motioned for his men to usher the others away. Brandon and Benjen followed after, to help with the crowd control, especially since some of them started to moo like cows in jest. “Stay with us, you two.” He said to the newly wed couple. “We'll escort you in.”

Sansa's brothers, Lord Eddard, Harlon, Markus and Locke closed ranks around them, and walked at a more sedate pace than the rest. The hairs on the back of Locke's neck stood up and he turned his head to the side, feeling like he was being watched.

“What is it?” Harlon asked him as the others stopped.

“I thought -” Locke stopped, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the torch he carried. “I thought someone was there.” He pointed to the side and looked back at his brother. Harlon, for his part, stared at where Locke pointed as he cold see in the dark, before looking at his brother.

“There's no one there,” He said, though there was an odd tone in his voice. Almost like he though he was missing something but he didn't know what.

“My mistake then,” Locke murmured, not quite shaking the feeling he had. He glanced at the newly weds. “My apologies.”

Domeric looked at him in concern but Sansa looked....more pale than usual, as if the blood had left her face. How strange, Locke thought to himself.

“We should continue then,” Lord Eddard said, looking to where Locke pointed before looking ahead of them. They continued to walk and Locke didn't look back but he still felt eyes on him and his family.

* * *

 

**Unknown, the Godswood of Winterfell**

They sensed me, he thought in wonder and delight. They were strong, and maybe he could take one of their bodies or even one of their daughters to wife. He needed to further his powers somehow.

But he put those plans out of his mind for now. He could feel his siblings heading in his direction and he couldn't fight all of the Northmen without fighting them too. So as his brothers and sisters rounded the tree behind him, he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke that shot into the air and traveled South.

The Children watched the cloud fade into nothing and gritted their teeth. They almost had him! Now they needed to report to Lord Rickard and help build more defenses against their brother.

* * *

**Sigil for House Towers of Roger Hall, formerly House Bolton of the Dreadfort. Once a great house, their holdings have been reduced and now they are the equivalent of Northern Landed Knights. Both Sansa and Domeric hope to bring honor to their house and collaborated on this banner.  
**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If none of you have read the appendix in the other part of this series, Evie is actually Eddara Snowfall, Brandon's only daughter and half sister to Markus. Evie is her nickname. Hopefully that clears up any confusion. The title also refers to the main color of the marriage cloak that Domeric uses.
> 
> I don't know if I'll have time to post until after both Christmas and New Year's Eve but I will try to have a chapter in between the two. No promises though. In any case, I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	31. Conversations I

**Ser Lommy Greenhands, the Great Hall of Winterfell**

Lommy stood near his mistress with his sister, a fact which made their Lady frown.

“Good Ser, my Lady,” Sansa said with slight disapproval. “I told you both to take the night off.”

“We are comfortable right here my lady,” Agnes said quietly, a green hand resting on one of the Sai she was given by Dame Yira.

“And considering how much drink is being passed around, should things get hairy, sober minds might be a good thing.” Lommy said, a green hand of his own resting on the pommel of his sword.

Sansa made to protest further but her husband quietly shushed her.

“They speak true, my love.” Ser Domeric looked around warily. “They may not bare steel just yet, but you never know. The Greenhands have the right of it.” He gave them both a respectful nod as Lady Sansa huffed.

“Very well, against my better judgment, I will let you guard me for the rest of the night, but when we leave for Roger Hall -”

“We will obey your every word,” Lommy promised with his sister nodding. When they were taken in by Lord Rickard and adopted by Ser Rodrik Cassel, they never would have expected to be raised to titled warriors and sworn protectors of a noble lady. They were grateful to be sure, but they never forgot that they were orphaned children who worked with dies and cloth until and served as spies before all of this.

“Be sure that you do,” Lady Sansa huffed again with a playful smile. “Or I might just find spouses for the both of you, so you could be brought to heel.”

Lommy blinked once, “No one would marry me or my sister, mainly because we come from nothing.”

“And because my brother has the same amount of charisma as a wet bag of sand.” Agnes smiled slightly as Lommy glared at her.

“At least my nose is straight, you bitch.” He muttered under his breath and his sister laughed. True, his sisters face was still swollen from the rumble that happened earlier in the week, her nose would be fine after the Maester fixed it. But that would have to wait until the rest of the swelling went down and her nose would still be swollen as it healed from being reset.

“I could make it match mine if you like?” She offed raising a clenched fist, shaking it playfully as she grinned. Lommy just rolled his eyes and surveyed the area. There were no children now, as they had all been put to bed with guards of their own. Not that there were many children to begin with, only ones that were related to the Starks.

Sure, the lords in attendance brought their heirs and daughters to present themselves to Ser Robb, but there was hardly anyone under the age of fourteen here.

“Sluts, all of them.” Agnes grumbled from his side and he held back a smile.

“Is that jealousy I hear, sister?” He murmured. She used to have a crush on Robb who was having women pounce on him or thrown at him at this very moment. She had claimed that she was over it but he had his doubts.

“Go fuck yourself,” She snapped back and he chuckled a little.

“They are a bit eager, aren't they?” Lady Sansa said in agreement and the two siblings flushed at being heard, Agnes more so than Lommy.

“My lady-”

“No Agnes, you're right, their behavior leaves much to be desired.” Their lady wrinkled her nose. “At least no one has tried that on you or me.” She added to her husband.

No but it hasn't stopped them from staring at you my lady, Lommy thought with a grimace. Many men here stared at Sansa in lust, and while Lommy agreed that she was a beautiful, the stares were fucking annoying. None more so than that of Ser Theon Wendelson, the son and heir of Wendel Manderly and Asha Greyjoy.

His gaze bordered on creepy and when he turned his look Lommy's way, the fucker had the audacity to wink at him mockingly. As if Lommy couldn't do anything about his look, as if he were beneath him. Come this way fucker, and I'll put you beneath the ground, He thought with a small snarl on his face.

“I'd advise you against killing the heir of a noble house,” Ser Domeric called to him with a glare of his own. “Even if he should do us all a favor and look somewhere else.”

“Yes my lord,” Lommy muttered, somewhat petulant but he ignored the squid spawn and looked about the place with his sister as his duty demanded. They were later joined by their lady's cousin, Ser Robin Rivers, who would join them on their journey to Roger Hall.

“Everything alright?” He asked with a slight grin.

“So far so good,” Lommy answered with Agnes grunting in agreement.

“How are your wife and children?” Sansa asked with a smile.

“Sleeping, the children I mean, Turnip might come back out later but I think she will stay with Gage and Lysa.” Ser Robin shrugged his shoulders. “Thank you again for the offer to live with you, Ser Domeric and thank you for the stitching of my sigil, Lady Sansa.” He said patting the red Enfield on blue and white on his shoulder. Lady Sansa had done the same for them by creating an upside green gauntlet on white and bordered by green for them to wear. And they had done so with pride.

“It was no trouble,” Lady Sansa replied with a bight smile with Ser Domeric nodding along.

“We'll find a place for all of you to build keeps or towers to call your own, we just need permission from Lord Eddard and the other lords.” He waved off their protests. “The North is big enough for such a thing and there are many landed knights now, what's a few more?”

They still protested such a thing, even if he refused to listen.

* * *

 

**Ser Markus Ryden, Guest Quarters**

Markus and Obara stared at Evie without a hint of judgment and scorn.

“You're coming with us,” Obara said firmly and without hesitation. “You and your babe will be safe in the High Castle. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Evie Snowfall said stoically though she was trying hard to not be emotional.

“Father doesn't know?” Markus asked quietly. It seemed a silly question considering she said that her mother and their siblings did not know about her pregnancy. But he wanted to get all the facts so he had to ask.

“N-No,” Evie chocked out a stray tear falling from her face. “Please don't tell him Marky, I don't think he would react well.”

“Considering he had me, I doubt he would be angry.” Markus offered lightly even as his heart warmed at the old childhood nickname his sister used.

“Yes he would,” Evie said mournfully.

“Eddara-”

“I'm his only daughter, he's always treated me differently,” Evie cut him off with a bitter smile. “He wouldn't even let me train as much as Torr and Dusty and I had to practically beg him to even consider letting me go elsewhere.”

Markus said nothing to dispute that but he did speak again, “The father of your child, who is he?” He asked then added when his sister made to protest, “I will not harm him but if you feel your child's life is in danger, maybe the father should join us as well.” He offered.

Evie gave him a dubious look, “You won't hurt him?” She demanded.

“I swear on my honor as a knight, I will not harm or let harm come to you, your child, and its father.” Markus vowed and Obara echoed it to help reassure her good sister. Evie slumped in her chair.

“His name is Ser Axel Waterfall, he was recently knighted.”

“He's the bastard son of the Master at arms for the Wolf's Cradle, is he not?” Evie nodded at his question and he thought about it.

“Father will let you come when we say so, but I will make the suggestion to let Ser Waterfall come with us as extra protection for you to appease your mother and Torrhen.” The logic was a bit of a stretch but it could work in their favor if he presented it right.

“Thank you,” Evie repeated with a chocked sob and Markus moved forward to hug her.

“You're family Evie, and I take care of my family.” Markus murmured, hugging her tightly as she continued to cry. “Let it out sister, and when you're finished, we'll go speak to father and tell him of our plans.”

* * *

 

**Rickard Stark, the Lord Solar**

His allies had laid out their plan to deal with the new threat that arose and for once, Rickard wasn't willing to listen.

“If your brother is heading South, then it is just as well that we keep as many people as we can here.”

“Father-”

“No Ned, I am not going to put our kin in danger by sending them South!” Rickard snarled at his son.

“My lord,” Leaf held a hand up in placating manner. “I do not like this either, but until we can find him, the alliances that were made must remain intact. It will help when he does show himself again.”

“Father, the Children are right and if what some of us felt in the Godswood is correct, then no where is safe. We need allies.”

“Ned,” Rickard said in exasperation. “We fought long and hard to keep Visenya safe, now you are asking me to put the others in danger and her too when the Grand Council is inevitably called?”

“And you don't think it will be seen as strange when the children of two Dornish Princes and the nephew of a great Lord don't show up as promised?” Ned shot back. “Are we supposed to hold the Baratheon siblings here even though we promised that we would send them with an escort to the Vale of Arryn?”

Rickard placed his head in his hands, “They're my grandchildren, Ned, I cannot risk them.”

“We cannot risk the alliances either, father. I don't like this anymore than you, but if we don't do this, we may jeopardize the lives of many.”

“Am I supposed to let that shit stain of a Thenn live as well then?” Rickard looked up and gave his son a baleful look. “After all he has done?”

“No,” Ned said coldly. “We will deal with him and make sure his house and his liege don't retaliate.”

“Oho, and how do you propose we do that?” Rickard asked, intrigued despite the situation.

“With marriage, of course.”

* * *

**Sigil for Lommy and Agnes Greenhands, sworn protectors to Lad Sansa Stark and her new house, Towers.**

 

**Sigil for Ser Robin Rivers, Lady Sansa's bastard cousin.  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a little shorter than before but better than nothing right?


End file.
